I grew up flying across the Midwest as an unaccompanied minor between my parents, one of whom lived in Minnesota, the other in Ohio. I didn’t know anyone else who boarded a plane to see their other parent every few months. And while there is a lot to be said about how having two parents under the same roof would have been more ideal, I grew to appreciate the rhythm of these flights. Being up in the sky felt like an escape. Up there, I could be anyone I wanted.

“Being up in the sky felt like an escape. Up there, I could be anyone I wanted.”

After graduating high school, I attended a university in a new state, spent each summer between semesters in a different location, traveled to South America, Europe, and around the US to wherever my little Mazda would take me.

I’m grateful for the way these experiences opened up my worldview and cultivated a sense of adventure. They taught me about all of the options available to me, and I grew to really love the anonymity that came with each new place and a new routine. So much so that I craved it, and when things started to feel a bit too familiar, I would feel a longing to up and move elsewhere.

The first person I ever knew who traveled full time was my dad. An old hippie and Vietnam veteran who came of age in the 60s, he has been traveling full-time for the last 15 years in his Casita camper. (He is now 76 and has no plans to quit.)

“When things started to feel a bit too familiar, I would feel a longing to up and move elsewhere.”

After I graduated from college, it seemed like everyone was nomadic. One of my friends decided to buy an old 70s camper, renovate it while living in it with her husband and their cat. Then COVID hit and suddenly remote work was the norm. My social algorithm showcased just how many people decided to hit the road, work from anywhere, and pursue adventure. We had entered an era of transience, and I wondered what it might mean to take our life on the road, too. Plus I really loved those cute little airstreams!

Now, six years post-pandemic, it is easier than ever to rely on ourselves, reimagine our lives, or relocate when we get uncomfortable. 

And there is much to be said about how this benefits society. I’m grateful for how modern life allows for this when we need it to, and particularly for the ways being able to do so has benefited women and marginalized communities. I myself have benefited from this growth.

But I wonder how our hyperfixation on independence and personal ideals has influenced how lonely we are. I am certainly not the first to say that leaning into these tendencies too hard has isolated us. 

“I wonder how our hyperfixation on independence and personal ideals has influenced how lonely we are.”

I moved back to California — where I was born — almost a decade ago, to the town where my grandparents lived and where my mother was raised. I grew up visiting this particular spot on the outskirts of LA all my life, so even though I’d never lived here full time, it felt like home enough. 

My skill for starting over had served me well. I’d spent my college years in an environment heavily influenced by religion and in the years after I’d spent much of my energy parsing out what had been enriching and what had been, well, not.

There was a lot of obligation and guilt wrapped up in the way I’d experienced community. So, for a time, it was helpful to be anonymous. I needed space from the expectations and the pressures that come along with knowing and being known. I remembered the way I used to feel all those years ago, up in the sky on a flight where no one knew me. There is freedom in anonymity.

“There was a lot of obligation and guilt wrapped up in the way I’d experienced community. So, for a time, it was helpful to be anonymous.”

The first time my barista recognized me, remembered my order, I felt exposed. I’d crossed over some theoretical threshold of time and was officially a local. I’d landed here, had a fiancé and a full-time job and no intentions of leaving. For the first time, I couldn’t act on the temptation to scrap it all and to escape when I felt uncomfortable. I had people who depended on me. I now depended on myself.

I’ve been here nearly ten years now. My daughter just started kindergarten at the elementary school where my mother, her siblings, and my cousins all went to school. My son will join her there next year. 

We spend our weekends walking to the farmers market as a family. We get our strawberries from Martín and play in the cul-de-sac with the boys next door. I hope that someday they will graduate from the local high school. 

During the week, I walk to our local café every day where the baristas know my order. I know their names and they know mine. I buy my coffee beans from their shop. I know where it’s roasted.I’ve settled into the well-worn rhythms of a well-formed life, and this is a gift I could only appreciate with time. I remain convinced that it is important to carve out space to be anonymous, for anyone, to get clear on who you are and who you want to be. It is still my favorite way to gain perspective and clarity when I need it. 

“I’ve settled into the well-worn rhythms of a well-formed life, and this is a gift I could only appreciate with time.”

I also wonder if the best part of going away is coming home to rest in the place we are seen, where we truly belong.

Despite my affinity for adventure and appreciation for an unconventional life, I have created one that is remarkably traditional — I have chickens, for god’s sake! And for a long time I wondered if I was missing out on something by not pursuing a more unique path.

But these traditions remain for a reason. There is an ancient wisdom to being rooted in community and interdependence, a stability that is necessary for communal and individual survival. Unsurprisingly, motherhood has taught me the most about how the community around us holds us, props us up from all sides when we are too tired to stand. 

“The community around us holds us, props us up from all sides when we are too tired to stand.”

Perhaps sacrificing some of our ideals can give way to something more meaningful, more nourishing — being in community with each other.

Kate Arceo is a writer based in Southern California and the Community Manager at The Good Trade. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Communication Studies and has been reviewing sustainable home and lifestyle brands, as well as organic kids’ apparel and nontoxic cosmetics for the last ten years. In her free time you can find her hosting dinners on the back patio, reading a novel on the sofa, or sipping a latte at the local café. Say hello on Substack and Instagram!