I’m writing this blog post mid-flight somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. I meant to write about my two weeks in Hawaii, but I can’t focus. There is an empty seat next to me. I keep looking over at the empty space, at what is not there. I move on, and on, and on. Always moving, pressing on, living the life I chose for myself, exploring the world and marvelling at its beauty, and for the most part, I am happy. But these empty seats remind me that I travel alone.
I try to focus on Hawaii and all the wonderful things I did there, but right now, that is not what I need to write about. Right now, I need you as a surrogate friend to fill the empty space next to me. Someone to talk to, to tell you that sometimes I really fucking miss having someone next to me that I know, someone that I trust, someone I love. I long for a shoulder to lean on, to rest against. I want an arm to pull me into an embrace. I want to return a smile. I want my hand to search the darkness for a hand to hold, to feel the warmth of someone who welcomes my warmth, my breath, my closeness and affection, needs it, reaches out for it. Hell, I’d even take an angry argument over this empty seat.
I’m often asked if I don’t get lonely, if I don’t want someone to share my experiences with. I answer that I’m never alone and that I share my life with the people I meet on my journey, and it is mostly true. But there is only so much I can share with people I’ve known for only a few days or weeks. Some things—important things—are left buried within me.
I’m afraid that along my journey, I’ll always have an empty seat next to me. Who could ever fill it? I had a hard enough time finding a partner in my previous geo-static life, and now it seems all but impossible. And no, I can’t stop. I don’t want to. I like my nomadic life. Most of the time, I’m happy. Most of the time.
It is a few hours later, and I’m reading what I wrote above. They were honest words, and I don’t want to edit them or hide them from you. Still, it is time to reel in the self-pity.
It is true; I have no clue how to make relationships work as a nomad. Conventional relationships don’t seem to fit. Fine. So be it. I’ll deal with this as I dealt with other aspects of my nomadic life: I will forge my own path, and I’ll bend any god damn rule of convention that stands in my way.
It won’t be easy, but what other path could I walk but my own?