WE NOMADS (particularly we of the gray hair and wrinkles set) are often asked by concerned non-nomads, “But what will you do when you become too old or sick to care for yourself?” 

I usually answer, “The same thing you’ll do when you become too old or sick to care for yourself: make other arrangements.”

The question assumes we nomads are the ones who will need help and that living in a building will somehow hold decrepitude at bay. But I’ve been off the road since March to help out my sick ex-nomad best friend.

 He has a heart condition, lung cancer, and digestive problems. He has lost a lot of weight and muscle. He’s weak and fatigued and anxious. Like me, he has no children or close relatives, not even a former wife. His many friends are scattered around the country, and I usually am as well. But I’m with him now. Because I can be. I’m not anchored to a home and family, so I can pick up and go to him and stay as long as necessary.

Friends are more important

There are elderly people living in buildings in the middle of population centers who are just as isolated as those of us alone in the boonies. They might be closer to medical care and social services, but do they have anyone to check in on them, prepare meals for them, run errands for them, take them to medical appointments? Do they have someone to talk to? I think those things are more important and harder to acquire, no matter what you live in.

I tend toward reclusiveness, but I understand the value of good friends. So while we’re out exploring the land, gathering experiences and memories, we should also gather a few true, reliable, benevolent friends. That’s one reason for nomad gatherings like Rubber Tramp Rendezvous, Women’s RTR, and the HOWA caravans. They increase your opportunity for meeting new people. Perhaps one will become your best friend ever — the one who will come running, or the one you’ll gladly run to. Wherever you are.