A recipe for domestic happiness?
© Joyce McGreevy

When the Art of Travel Is Domestic

“Do you ever get tired of being a digital nomad? You know, living out of a suitcase, never having a sense of home?” The art of travel would fray around the edges if that were so.

“Are you constantly managing logistics? Always on the move?” I get questions like these since decluttering and pulling up stakes to travel full time—while continuing to work full time.

Happily, none of those circumstances apply. Neither does another stereotype of full time travel.  As an online photo search shows, the stock image of the digital nomad is a Millennial with a Laptop at the Beach.

Who needs a laptop when you can monitor nature’s display?
© Joyce McGreevy

Surfing the Net?

Variations include stock images of the Millennial with a Laptop in a Hammock; silhouetted by a glowing monitor inside a tent; perched cross-legged, but still posting, from a promontory; or typing away at a tiki bar.

In this stock art of travel, the backdrop is always a beach. Because what could be better for a laptop—the equipment on which the digital nomad’s livelihood depends—than prolonged exposure to tanning oil, saltwater spray, and windblown grains of sand?

My day-to-day travel experience couldn’t be farther from that stock image. Let’s coin a new term, an alternative to “digital nomad.” Just call me a vagabond homebody.

Chop wood, carry water, appreciate everyday household objects.
© Joyce McGreevy

Have Apron, Will Travel

On arrival in a new place, the first thing I unpack is my apron.

What little else I’ve brought takes moments to put away. Each empty drawer or closet, though it might seem alien to others, is to me as inviting as a hand extended in friendship. Once again, a little corner of the world has made room for me and that feels like a kind of miracle.

It will be a month, maybe two, before I need my suitcase again.

On the first morning, I check out farmers’ markets and meet local greengrocers. Then, as I begin using the kitchen—be it spacious and connected to a large garden, or merely a two-burner countertop in an urban studio—a sense of home comes over me.

I work in many countries, yet carry a sense of home from place to place.
© Joyce McGreevy

Home Travel Pleasures

Maybe it’s the fragrance of the herbs, the reflections in water drops that cling to leaves of lettuce. Maybe it’s the tactile and auditory pleasures: the satisfying push and thunk of the paring knife prepping rosy, golden, and green vegetables for an evening meal.

Maybe it’s the memories that play like background music for those of us who ponder as we cook.  Above all, it’s gratitude in the present moment.

Bringing home the bacon in Budapest.
© Joyce McGreevy

Out and About

Grounded by domestic ritual, I go out to explore, to learn, and above all, to connect with others:

• To meet new people who inform and challenge me.
• To stay in touch with colleagues, alumni, and friends who inspire me.
• To reconnect with family, near and far. To be there for school plays, graduations, and weddings. For early-morning walks and late-night talks.

Because sometimes I travel to acclimate to a whole new culture, and sometimes I travel to rediscover the cultures that have shaped me.

Oh, I see: Travel can be a series of homecomings.

What About Work?

Keeping an ever-changing roof over my head requires that I work full time.

This, too, connects me to the everydayness of places.  It lets me learn how to use the library in Copenhagen, request printing services in Bulgaria, conduct research at a museum in Athens, or go for an after-work swim in Oslo.

My work centers on writing textbook content, everything from language arts and history to original plays and short stories.  This motivates to do something else I love: meet with students and teachers from all over the world.

One little moment in Malta creates a sense of home.
© Joyce McGreevy

Our Global Neighborhood

Some neighbors I meet in my travels are new to me, some I’ve known all my life. Each one carries a piece of the world’s puzzle. People of all backgrounds, perspectives, and ages, including millennials. So far I’ve never met a Millennial with a Laptop at the Beach.

In many countries, cafés are for socializing, not filing reports or reading spreadsheets. I usually work from home, whether at a desk in Budapest, a kitchen table in Bend, or a cozy dorm room in Bloomsbury.  On those days, the travel pleasures are simple yet rich: the view of a park, the music of a local radio station, a quick jaunt to the nearest library, the wit of a favorite colleague as we confer online.

Sunday supper with my niece, Sydney Bevando, and her classmates in Copenhagen.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Traveling Compass

The countries, neighbors, and customs change. But when I wake up each morning, I always know exactly where I am: I’m home.

Even on airplanes, I’m at home. In-flight, I reflect on memories of my late father, a TWA pilot, and my late mother, whose home cooking reflected her love of travel.

At home in many cultures, Mom and Dad connected the art of travel with everyday domestic pleasures. They showed my siblings and me that a happy childhood is a home you can carry within you wherever you go. They taught us that everyone has a right to feel at home in this world.

No, there’s no need to call me a digital nomad. I’m really just a vagabond homebody.

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