I have lived my two polarities.

It all happened so fast. A few papers here. A signature there and all of a sudden I was a new homeowner at 23. 1400 square feet. Three bedroom, two bathroom. Even energy efficient. Not bad.

It sounded good at the time, but I hated it. I realized what I knew all along: I am not a domesticate housewife. Duh.

Two years later, I was selling all my stuff before minimalism was cool, and hightailing it to Asia. I lived in a temple, and then I lived off the road, little Asian beatnik style.

And now, I live in the third world ghetto. The slums, if you must. I like to call my dwelling a “slumpad”.

At first I thought I had no choice, but now I realize it was completely my choice. The life of the road was a grungy, dirty existence that challenged my personal views of self, society and the world around me. It was also my prerequisite for living in the slums.

On the road, your emotions are tested. Somedays, you laugh for no reason, like a crazy person. Somedays, you cry for no reason, like a crazy person.

After reading Off the Map that a fellow traveler passed on to me, I fantasized about my shared punk-rock ethos that the writer had, and convinced myself that I was cooler than I actually was as I relayed my journey to theirs.

Sleeping in abandoned native huts and crashing on dingy mattresses probably full of bugs (it was too dark to check and god, I tried not to think about it) is sooooo punk-rock! Sure. I tried to attach this “hardcore” philosophy only so that I could sound more badass than I felt. Only so that I could convince myself that living in the slums wouldn’t be so bad. After all, I’ve experienced worst during my trek and I do like adventure…

Thinking back to my teenage years, when I wore my dad’s old torn-up brown hoodie, with holes on the cuffs to put my thumbs through, and safety pins on the back to display my CRASS patch (a controversial punk band from the 70s/80s); my parents hated it and told me that I looked like a person on the streets (looking like a street kid, “gutter punk” was the point right?). I wondered what they would think of me now. Living this “off the map” existence.

I’m on the verge of making enough to start to afford a better (read: western) apartment. I thought it was because I ran out of money that I was forced to live in this god awful place (and believe me, it was a hard adjustment full of culture shock and lots of crying on the floor; lots of feeling sorry for myself, too.). I thought that if there is a god, he must be playing some kind of joke on me. The girl who rejected her house and then-boyfriend now lives in a ghetto and sleeps on the floor.

Down but not out. The lessons on the road taught me the importance of perseverance and inner strength. No matter how hard that hill is burning my thighs or how sharp the gravel feels beneath my flimsy flip-flops, there is always the next bend. All you have to do is take one step at a time.

Movement. Nothing in life is permanent, even when your emotions hit you so deeply or so painfully. Just keep going. It will change.

I got through the uncomfortable bits. I am fine.

But then it dawned on me. If I hated the house, and I hate the ghetto–my two polarities–what makes me think I would be satisfied with a condo apartment? That extreme rejection I had for Western lifestyle, status-quo and buying stuff was exactly why I had gotten myself into this; from one pendulum swing to the next.

I realized that I would probably hate anywhere I live. Mostly for what it represents. Stability. Settling. Systems and societal inequities. That Bullshit keeping up with the Joneses. The only home I’d like to live in is, like an entrepreneur, one that is built. Where I call the shots and creative direction is a final touch.

I am the type of person that can’t resist the road. The call to travel. To be untethered. Free.

Most of the people in the world still live in poor conditions and rely on coal. How could I go back to my first world amenities knowing that so many people do without? I’m not that sheltered American that I used to be, even though I miss the sheltered life.

I’d rather spend money on travel destinations than monthly bills.

The ghetto feels demeaning. Walking past shit and a wall of flies. But a condo feels restrictive. I need something in between. Or something completely extravagant off of Home Living magazine, fully furnished, for my next pendulum swing.

Instead of upgrading to a new place I would ultimately feel unsatisfied in, why not change my intentions first? Save money. Don’t act impulsively. Find the right place. Take my time.

In the meantime, I’ll enjoy what I have. Instead of hating where I live, I’ll try to make it work for me. I just bought plastic bins to organize my clothes and it’s working as an excellent makeshift table for my laptop as I sit on pillows and do my thing. The slumpad also makes an excellent art studio, because it’s the perfect space to get messy in!

Respect your space. Love your space.

The change must start with your inner mindset, and not in your external surroundings.

Janet

Janet is a Professional Hobo, burgeoning entrepreneur and homeless nomad passionate about working with creative world changers and showing people how to march to their own beats.