New Name for my Blog: Nomad Without a Country

(Exploring Van Life Abroad)

Hello.

Where do you go when your country disappears?

I have changed the name of my blog to Nomad Without a Country. Since I launched my blog back in July, 2025, it has been Like a Buffalo, Roam, but that no longer feels right.

It is time to make a change.

The new name reflects two important developments: how living on the road has changed me, and that the America I once knew and believed in has lost its way.

Personal Changes

In 2022, after spending six months on the road in a van, to my surprise, I realized I had become a nomad, a person who lives life on the move, who seldom stays in one spot.

Van life changed me in a number of ways:

- First, I no longer wanted or needed a home

- Next, I got rid of almost all of my possessions

- Instead of fighting with the weather, I now move with the seasons

- Being outdoors is essential for my physical and mental well-being

- Movement, motion, the road, all call to me; I have to respond

I gave up my home in 2022 and got rid of my possessions later that year. I have not had a home since, and have spent most of each year on the road in my mini-campervan.

Who I Am Now and Why I Write

The original name of the blog includes the word nomad. Whatever that means. It conjures up powerful images. It means different things to different people.

Allow me to clear up a few possible misconceptions.

I don’t wander around the desert wearing animal skins or sleep on a piece of cardboard on a city sidewalk. Instead, as a modern nomad, I live on the road by choice—in a campervan, protected from the rain and wind, equipped with communications technology--a cellphone and a laptop.

Being a nomad gives me a lot of freedom. I go anywhere I want, any time I want. And I don’t have to be home on time for dinner. Dinner is wherever I am.

When I lived in a house, I controlled my climate. On the road, the climate controls me. I go south for the winter. I go to higher elevations in the summer.

Living at home means starting in the same spot each day and returning there at night. Nothing changes.

On the road, when I get up each day, how far I go and where I stop are all up to me. Everything changes.

Once I realized that I had overthrown the idea that, like everyone else, I had to live my life in one spot, I felt like a bit of a revolutionary.

Hand me my beret and call me Che. It was a feeling of real empowerment.

People told you can’t do this, but inside, somehow, I knew that I could.

Many people say, “It sounds exciting, but I could never do that.” Well, if you never try, you’ll never know.

What “Without a Country” Means

I have not renounced my country of birth and do not intend to. I am without a country because the country I love, in which I grew up, has disappeared. I don’t know where it went.

The question is, what do you do when that happens? Most people stay, but I had to leave.

I have decided to live in Mexico, to learn the language, and meet Mexican people personally. On their turf. Playing by their rules.

I found myself asking the obvious: But how will this help us find our footing again? What difference can I or any one person make, acting alone?

But if I write about it, and you read about it, I’m not acting alone. I can touch many minds.

I hope to show that not all Americans view Mexico and Mexicans negatively. Build a human bridge, a person at a time. Maybe a bridge built of brotherhood can beat a wall made of hate.

By learning the language and speaking out in solidarity, maybe I can show people here that not all Americans are filled with hatred and intolerance.

There is only one way I know to do this: By showing up.

So, Did I Quit Van Life? What Am I Doing Here?

I am still a van lifer, but I take a break from the road at times. For the last three winters, I have come to Mexico. In the summers, I head up into the mountains.

It’s hard to get off the road, but I am staying here for a while. I’m renting a casita. Part of me wants to keep moving. But another part of me says, "Hey, slow down.”

Inside me, a struggle rages.

I can’t stay inside the casita all day with the door shut and the curtains closed.

I have to keep the front door open, or else it feels like prison. Keep the windows wide open. I eat breakfast and dinner outside on my patio, under the blue sky.

The casita has no AC. Fresh air flows through, carrying the scent of the outdoors.

“So,” I ask myself, in the wee hours. “What am I doing in Mexico? Am I safe?”

Mexico does not seem as dangerous as many of us think. I’ve never seen any criminal activity, nor spotted anyone who behaved like a criminal.

How did I find this place high up in the mountains? Fellow nomads I met on the road told me about this little town. Nomads know such things. Now I live here.

You might think it is risky. Yet I am cautious. I don’t drive at night. I stick to the main roads. My eyes are wide open, but I do not sense danger or feel afraid.

Every day, I try to build personal connections. I can already bear witness that most Mexican people are warm, kind, and friendly, certainly not criminals.

But why me? I have no special power or talent to bring two nations together.

On the other hand, I can’t stay home or stand idly by.

Traveling is my secret power. I go places. This is where I must be.

I will strive to be a witness and a goodwill ambassador.

What Readers Can Expect

The blog will continue to present stories of life on the road, but in foreign lands. In a new twist, the blog will focus on living and writing outside the United States.

When my country, the one I know and love, calls me home, I’ll return.

But not until then.

I will be honest and open. You will find my trademark humor. Not overly political or partisan. But not shy to speak out if need be, either.

If you are curious about what it’s like to live in Mexico now, please keep reading.

Thanks for taking note of the name change and sticking with me.