by Karon -

My First Nomad-aversary: One Year of Going Alone

It’s already my first nomad-aversary!

One year ago, I sold almost everything I owned and set off to see what life might look like without a permanent home. I had joked about becoming a nomad for years, so by the time I finally started sorting through closets, drawers, and decades of accumulated stuff, I was emotionally ready.

Or so I thought.

It turns out that being ready to leave and actually deciding what to do with years of belongings are two very different things. Downsizing was more challenging than I expected, and there were definitely moments when I wondered what in the world I was doing.

But somewhere between leaving my old life behind and finding my way through seventeen states, I discovered something I hadn’t expected.

I didn’t just learn that I could live with less. I learned more about what I want more of.

More time with my family and friends. More forests and beaches. More wandering through small towns and lingering long enough to really get to know a place. More photography. More art galleries. More of those ordinary, beautiful moments that are easy to miss when life feels busy.

Madrid, New Mexico

None of these things are new loves. But this past year has given me the chance to make more room for them.

So, before I get too sentimental, I thought it would be fun to look back at year one of this adventure—the places I’ve been, a few favorites, what surprised me, and some of what this nomadic life has taught me along the way.

The Numbers:

  • seventeen states and one other country—all repeat visits
  • two Great Lakes
  • five lighthouses
  • eight beaches
  • one caldera
  • two national parks
  • seven state parks
  • seventeen Dambo Trolls
  • three desert communities
  • one lavender farm
  • twenty-six old churches
  • 48 things checked off from my 2025 List of Ideas (August–December)
  • 51 things checked off from my 2026 List of Ideas (January–August)

My Favorites:

  • Meal – surprisingly, Mexican food in Colorado Springs at Milagro’s Cocina Mexicano
  • Adventure – hiking to the Eternal Flames Falls in New York
  • Beach – Anna Maria Island, Florida
  • Small town – Manitou Springs and Golden, Colorado; Sackets Harbor and Ellicottville, New York. I had a hard enough time narrowing it down to four.
  • Seasonal thing – fall in New York
  • Old church – Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico

What Surprised Me:

  • how much I enjoyed meeting new people
  • how much I missed pine trees and forest walks while I was in the desert
  • how quickly a new place can start to feel familiar
  • how little I need to feel at home
  • how much I enjoy having nowhere particular to be
  • how tiring constant decision-making can occasionally be
  • how much confidence I’ve gained from figuring things out alone
  • how different it feels to live somewhere versus simply visit it

What I’ve Learned:

  • I cherish my time with family and friends more than ever
  • I need water in my life—whether it’s lakes, oceans, or rivers
  • apparently, I need pine trees too
  • I can trust myself more than I thought
  • confidence can grow quietly
  • talking to strangers isn’t nearly as scary as I once thought
  • I don’t have to know exactly what’s next
  • going alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely

I started my journey as a nomad with my son and his family in Texas, and I’m ending my first year with my daughter and her family back in North Carolina. Somehow, that feels like the perfect beginning and ending to this first year of the journey.

I love that this lifestyle has given me the flexibility to spend more time with family and friends, winter at the beach, wander through small towns, and really explore different areas. After one year as a nomad, I can honestly say it’s been a great first year.

I’m not making any travel plans just yet, but I have plenty of ideas for year two.

by Karon -

My July Project: Finding My Way Back to Myself

My July project started out very simply – bring more creativity into my life. I thought I was going to spend July doing creative things, but somewhere along the way, creativity reminded me who I was.

I started by going to several art galleries each week. This wasn’t difficult with areas like Santa Fe, Madrid, and Old Town Albuquerque all less than an hour away. I’ve always loved eclectic art galleries, and I found plenty of them in this area.

Many of the galleries were small, independently owned spaces and I was able to meet and visit with the artist. It was so interesting to chat with them about their inspirations or how they got started in art. One watercolor artist I met had been an engineer for 30+ years and then started his second career as an artist. His work was so peaceful, with such a wonderful use of light.

One of my favorite art experiences by far was discovering “Origami in the Garden at Box Studios” on the Santa Fe end of the Turquoise Trail. It turned out that the artist, Kevin Box, was the same artist whose work had captivated me in Boulder, Colorado. I had first discovered his sculptures at a lovely gallery on a sunny afternoon at Pearl Street Mall, and I immediately felt a connection to his work—a permanent representation of the ephemeral art of paper folding. During my years in Japan, I had developed a deep appreciation for the delicate art of origami and absolutely fell in love with Kevin Box’s sculptures. So, to happen upon his work again after traveling all the way to New Mexico felt like such a serendipitous moment.

Besides wandering through art galleries, I began to sketch in my watercolor journal even if only for ten or fifteen minutes a day. It became such a fun little addition to my daily habits. I would sketch everything from flowers to adobe dwellings. I gave myself permission to just play and have fun with the paint without any expectations. I did for myself what I used to do for my art students – encouraged myself to just be okay with imperfection.

I also started reading The War of Art, a book recommended by an artist I met during my stay in Rockport, Texas, back in January. I had actually attended her workshop the previous fall, and when I visited her gallery during my time in Rockport, we talked about the creative process and her own leap of faith into pursuing art. I tucked her book recommendation away in my bin of books traveling with me, and July seemed like the perfect time to finally read it. Her story, along with the book’s exploration of the internal conflicts we face when we try to create, gave me even more to think about during those hot Albuquerque afternoons.

Somewhere along the way, I noticed something happening. The more time I spent wandering through art galleries, talking to artists, practicing art, or reading about creating, the more I wanted to create. I felt like I had found my way back to myself.

Cliff dwellings at Bandelier National Monument.
by Karon -

The Quiet Magic of Bandelier National Monument

After winding through the Jemez Mountains, I arrived at my last stop for the day – Bandelier National Monument. I pulled over at the overlook and peered into the vast canyon. Even with a sturdy railing, my heart skipped a beat as I looked toward the canyon floor. I couldn’t help wondering what the drive down would be like. A few minutes later, I had my answer. There is a rather steep grade of about 8 percent with sharp switchbacks and steep drop-offs along the canyon walls. Honestly, though, it wasn’t bad at all.

Excited to see the cliff dwellings, I started my hike at the visitor center and then meandered along a flat shady path that ran parallel to a creek. Trees shaded the creek on one side of the trail while towering cliff walls rose on the other. Trees shaded the creek on one side of the trail while towering cliff walls rose on the other. Before long, the trail emerged into full sun, where it led to a kiva and the remains of several adobe structures. Looking down into the circular kiva, I thought of the people who had gathered there in the spiritual heart of the community, and I thought back to the first time I saw pueblo ruins and kivas decades ago at Mesa Verde in Colorado.

As I looked up, I got my first glimpse of the dwellings on the side of the cliff. I knew that there were going to be stairs, but this looked further up than I had anticipated. As I walked on, the path began to have an incline. I found a shaded bench beneath a few trees and stopped for my first break. The colors of the cliff walls were breathtaking ranging from light tan to warm yellows with streaks and layers of red and orange.

Most of the dwellings were in caves with ladders at the entrance, but there was also what looked like a rectangular house made with adobe and wooden beams. I thought about how difficult it would have been to carry those beams up without the modern convenience of the well-designed steps that had led me there.

I made my way up one of the ladders and stepped inside the small cave dwelling. The room was surprisingly cool, even in the afternoon sun. Being in a place where families once cooked, slept, and raised children made the history feel far more personal than simply reading about it on a sign.

It was hard to imagine families living high above the canyon, yet the alcoves felt surprisingly sheltered and connected to the landscape.

After I reached the highest level of the stairs, I turned and looked at the ruins below. They looked much larger and more intricate than when you are standing right beside them. From above, the valley stretched out below me, with the creek winding through the trees beneath towering cliff walls. Everything felt quiet, peaceful, and expansive. I felt proud of myself for making the climb (200 steps in all) and paused to take it all in. There were other trails, but I felt content with my adventure for the day. A year ago, my life felt much smaller. That afternoon, standing above the canyon, I realized how much confidence these solo adventures have quietly given me.