Like a rolling stone

Expats like me often find settling down can be challenging. We know the grass may not greener, but it may offer a welcome change of taste

Click to listen to Bob Dylan at Newport 1965

I often write about a sense of place that never seems to fully arrive. Since my first OE (overseas experience) from America some 30 years ago, I’ve had the travel bug. Bad.

How does it feel?

Ah - how does it feel?

to be on your own

with no direction home

like a complete unknown

like a rolling stone?

Thank you Bob Dylan for expressing the exact state of mind that I find myself some 60 years from when I first heard your plaintive voice and harmonica. I’m struck by how very apt your words are now.

I’ve come to think of life as a journey, not a destination. I’m sure my years of living in different countries and gathering stories has ended any need for the kind of security that most people find so compelling. Gardens and fireplaces continue to elude me. I tend other people gardens and make fires wherever I go. I know how to chop wood and carry water. Were these comforts more important I’m sure I would have found them. I guess to be honest, I like a little discomfort. I’m curious and restless. The fact that my favourite book by Pema Chodron is titled Comfortable with Uncertainty says it all.

I’m not averse to a little stability now and then. My tenure in a collection of beautiful rented flats has averaged 2-4 years, and leaving has been predicated by circumstances beyond my control. I have always found lovely places to rent in New Zealand. Generally, private landlords are nicer than managed buildings. My preference for proximity to a good beach is everything. When I was a financial adviser, people thought it odd that I had not made the commitment to home ownership. Most of those people had purchased their homes 30 or more years ago when I also owned homes. When homes were 1/10th of what they cost now in New Zealand. I gave up that security and traded it for a passport and a series of life experiences that money can’t buy any other way.

So when I received my recent eviction notice that my flat is being renovated and I have exactly 90 days to leave, I sighed. Not again. Not during the height of summer and tourism clogging accommodation. Yes. All of that. I made a mental note that my landlords had watched me drag up numerous huge planters and fill them with 50 kilos of soil each and plant veggies this spring, which are now full to overflowing, without saying a word. It made me a little ill. They wanted my rent for however long they needed to pay for that renovation. Fine.

Now I‘ve got to move myself and at least a truckload of heavy furniture, my collections of books and china (oh yeah) and newly expanded greenery…to where exactly? At what cost? The prospect was less than thrilling this time around perhaps because I am feeling stiffer in the joints and I know what lies immediately ahead. A lot of blood, sweat, and money paying removalists. No tears. I’ve learned not to look back, ever.

The ephemeral nature of life has always felt very tangible. As a child I spent a lot of solitary and very peaceful time in the woods behind our house, making treehouses and listening to birds. I developed a kind of knowing of the seasons and direction finding then. When I first struck out on my own from a secure job in America people thought I was crazy. Leaving for a year is not a very American thing to do. Somehow, I knew it was the right time then. I spun the globe at my travel agent’s office with a sense of whimsey, booking my forward cities. That crisp stack of parchment tickets in my airline folder had a special smell.

I relish the feeling of life on the road, living from a backpack, in my case, one that converted to a presentable suitcase for checking into the Oriental Hotel in Bangkok. I dubbed my travel style ‘from the sublime to the ridiculous’. A cold water hostel in India for 78 cents a night was just fine with me. I locked my backpack to the bed and wore my passport belt on exploratory walks, camel rides and train trips. In between jaunts, a few days getting cleaned up at the Plaza worked a charm. Travel is mind-blowing.

Turning my business into an online resource last year was obvious to me, if not an obvious form of work. I have the chops to understand and know what’s needed and how to source people and things. More than that, I care and understand what people moving countries face and how daunting all this can be - but also - how much damn fun it is (end promotional plug). Had I intuitively known a year ago that I would soon be hitting the road again?

There is nothing quite so thrilling as putting all your stuff into a container or storage unit, sweeping the floor one last time, handing over the house keys, and letting someone else take over that space. Freeing you to head out and ‘build a very big fire’, as Meryl Streep’s houseboy said in Out of Africa, to signal your entourage. Awaiting the day your ship comes in with men to unload and set up your bed for you. Unpacking always feels like Christmas.

Only this time, my journey is different. I have no destination!

I am making it up as I go this time. I imagine this chapter as a wandering form of mendicant life to meet my fellow New Zealanders as I go. Immersing myself in my culture beyond the limits of my Auckland life. Discovering the nooks and crannies of my own country this time. A country I have lived in for over 20 years but have yet to fully celebrate and discover. My profile on WWOOF.NZ is suitably amusing. I have no idea if anyone really wants a chatty American hanging around who loves horses, dogs, and gardens and is a damn fine cook and whiz on the internet. Offering my skills as a marketing mind or kid and hay bale handler who knows how to gap a spark plug and milk a cow. My grandmother even taught me how to churn butter. Might come in handy?

To what end you say? To discover even more things to love about New Zealand. I know it’s beautiful. I know the people are warm and kind. My trusty SUV is reliable enough to whisk me along to new experiences. I often say that “I have places to go and people to be”. When you are on the road, deciding who to be is part of the equation. Reflection time and time to brush up on my Te Reo Maōri. Read that Katherine Mansfield book of short stories I’ve been eyeing on the shelf. Write some more. Just be.

This time it will be different. I am older, considerably wilier, and I know to trust my finely honed intuition. The shirtless bathroom photo guy who followed me on Substack (yes, here) was reported in a flash. I still know when to run and when to stand my ground. Few people would be silly enough to mess with me. I have automatic reflexes from years of Tai Chi under my belt. I can always rely on my signature ‘women’s movement’, something every single girl should know.

I also know when to stop and smell the roses.

I needed this little break to get inspired. So thanks for indulging me. I’m back to packing. Selling things on TradeMe. 12-kilo sledge hammer anyone? Next up is finding people to move my stuff. Then scheduling my exit. An invitation to a lavender farm with horses is first up. Just perfect.

Coming to a beach or paddock near you - soon!

Not putting myself out to clover just yet.