jonom
Active member
All my friends and family call me Jono.
My grandfather came to the U.S. as a kid with his family. They were Irish Travelers (Pavee) and for generations roamed Ireland and Europe by wagon and boat. But the way of life for the Pavee (and Roma Gypsies) became harder and harder. They were no longer left alone and were evicted more and more from their temporary camps. They were harassed and abused. So they left for America as many before them had done.
They settled in California and traveled no more. My grandfather would tell me later (nearing his death) that this was the biggest mistake our family has ever made. The older he got the less English he spoke and I can still remember his grumpy voice rattling on in Gaelic.
I grew up hearing his stories, dreaming of travel--stoking the wanderlust in my belly. I joined the Marine Corps (infantry) when I was 17 and left to see the world. I saw many of the Pacific Islands, Australia, a lot of Asia. But the military sucks and I left the Corps (right before 2001) as a Corporal and kept traveling. I hit Ireland (almost didn't leave), England, France, and South Africa before I ran out of money and ideas.
I've been traveling ever since. Sometimes I'll stop somewhere and work for a bit or I'll bunker down with family or friends for a season (usually winter) and then hit the road again. It's in my blood. I'm not really happy doing anything else. I just want to be free.
I've hitched and walked mostly. The first time I hopped a train was because it was blocking the road I was walking on. It was a CSX right in the middle of Murfreesboro, TN and I climbed onto it half-believing that it wouldn't move again. But it did. It slowly picked up speed and flew past rural places that I had never seen before. It was then that I realized that I really had no say at all when the train was going to stop. I had to let go of any illusions of control. To ride a train you need to let go... you're free.
To be perfectly honest this moment (my first train) was one of the rare moments that I was proud to be an American. I felt like I was participating in an old tradition. Like Elvis or the 4th of July or Jazz or Thanksgiving... we all have the right to revel in this Americana.
So now here I am... bunkered down in Alabama for the winter trying to control the itch in my feet to leave. I like sincere people, good food, and sleeping under the stars. I like to talk about ideas and giggle a lot. I want to meet people who are nomads. I yearn for community and friends that are worth the shirt off my back. I have crazy dreams of sailboats, deep woodland camps, and a family on the road. I'm an artist in my soul, an anarchist in my thoughts, and a free man in my dreams. I'm a wandering writer trying to paint with words.
Hopefully I've found the right place.
My grandfather came to the U.S. as a kid with his family. They were Irish Travelers (Pavee) and for generations roamed Ireland and Europe by wagon and boat. But the way of life for the Pavee (and Roma Gypsies) became harder and harder. They were no longer left alone and were evicted more and more from their temporary camps. They were harassed and abused. So they left for America as many before them had done.
They settled in California and traveled no more. My grandfather would tell me later (nearing his death) that this was the biggest mistake our family has ever made. The older he got the less English he spoke and I can still remember his grumpy voice rattling on in Gaelic.
I grew up hearing his stories, dreaming of travel--stoking the wanderlust in my belly. I joined the Marine Corps (infantry) when I was 17 and left to see the world. I saw many of the Pacific Islands, Australia, a lot of Asia. But the military sucks and I left the Corps (right before 2001) as a Corporal and kept traveling. I hit Ireland (almost didn't leave), England, France, and South Africa before I ran out of money and ideas.
I've been traveling ever since. Sometimes I'll stop somewhere and work for a bit or I'll bunker down with family or friends for a season (usually winter) and then hit the road again. It's in my blood. I'm not really happy doing anything else. I just want to be free.
I've hitched and walked mostly. The first time I hopped a train was because it was blocking the road I was walking on. It was a CSX right in the middle of Murfreesboro, TN and I climbed onto it half-believing that it wouldn't move again. But it did. It slowly picked up speed and flew past rural places that I had never seen before. It was then that I realized that I really had no say at all when the train was going to stop. I had to let go of any illusions of control. To ride a train you need to let go... you're free.
To be perfectly honest this moment (my first train) was one of the rare moments that I was proud to be an American. I felt like I was participating in an old tradition. Like Elvis or the 4th of July or Jazz or Thanksgiving... we all have the right to revel in this Americana.
So now here I am... bunkered down in Alabama for the winter trying to control the itch in my feet to leave. I like sincere people, good food, and sleeping under the stars. I like to talk about ideas and giggle a lot. I want to meet people who are nomads. I yearn for community and friends that are worth the shirt off my back. I have crazy dreams of sailboats, deep woodland camps, and a family on the road. I'm an artist in my soul, an anarchist in my thoughts, and a free man in my dreams. I'm a wandering writer trying to paint with words.
Hopefully I've found the right place.
