People are always asking us how they can live a nomadic nudist lifestyle just like ours. Or maybe I’ve just imagined that people are always asking us that.
Anyway, if you’re heart’s set on becoming a nomadic nudist you must remember:
As a nomad you will move around a lot.
Let’s dissect this. According to Merriam-Webster, “nomadic” is an adjective meaning “roaming about from place to place aimlessly, frequently, or without a fixed pattern of movement.” Kind of like last Saturday night after you drank 13 beers. Or even your college years. But that does not make you a nomad.
You can quit your job, sell all your stuff and move into an RV or a car or a tent, but if you don’t physically move then you’re just homeless.
So you’ll have to get used to packing it up every now and then and relocating your home space. You should move at least a quarter of a mile away, but most likely you’re going to want to move to a nudist place because, after all, you want to be a Nomadic Nudist. Which brings us to the second thing you must remember:
You can’t always be nude in public.
Your dream of life as a nomadic nudist probably includes visions of happily moving around in a constant state of undress, but let me tell you, some people frown upon that.
I know people who drive naked between nudist resorts. They drive their car naked, their motorhome naked. They keep something handy to cover themselves up with — shorts, a towel, the family dog — in case they get pulled over.
Not me, no sir. I stayed covered up when I drive because I know that if the cops pulled me over, it wouldn’t go smoothly. As the officer approached my vehicle, I’m sure I’d panic and throw my shorts out the window. Or the dog would run away. (Notice I did not suggest using the family cat. Forcing a cat to cover your genitals is never a good idea. Trust me.)
The point is, until your particular society gives a collective “meh” when confronted with public nudity, you’re going to have to put on some threads at some point as a nomadic nudist. I know this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Sorry.
Making a living as nomadic nudist.
So let’s assume you’ve gone and bit the bullet. You’ve decided to go nomadic and are planning to travel around by boat, plane, on foot, in an RV, on a giant Hoppity Hop, whatever.
And you already are, or will soon become a nudist or naturist.
Now, how do you pay for your nomadic nudism? If you’re retired, then hopefully you’ve got those checks rolling in and all you have to worry about is what song you’ll pick for karaoke night at your favorite nudist resort.
If you’re still working, hopefully you can take your job on the road. Some examples would be traveling nurse, traveling construction worker, writer, artist, computer programmer, blogger and pharmaceutical sales rep.
Jobs that don’t support the nomadic life very well are: Brain surgeon, doorman, soybean farmer and air traffic controller.
You can also try work camping (sometimes called “workamping,” which is just weird). Work camping are jobs that specifically appeal to nomads. These include jobs as campground hosts, beet harvesters, security gate guards, and temporary workers at Amazon distribution centers.
Despite the name, work camping (or “workamping” but not “worcamping” or “wrkcmpng”) does not mean you’ll get paid for setting up your tent, dumping your poop tanks or trying to negotiate the freeway hell of San Bernardino. That’s just work.
People choose work camping (aka “workamping” but not “camworking,” “crimpwonga” or “wingporkcam”) jobs because they often get a temporary space to park their RV at a reduced rate, sometimes for free. The problem is, unless you get a job at a nudist resort, you could end up in a textile RV park located in the boonies of Missouri. In November.
But it’s an option. And options are what being a nomadic nudist is all about. The option to stay put for awhile or to move on down the road. The option to work or to starve. The option to drive clothed or share a cell with a 300 pound drunk nicknamed “Caboose.” It’s a great life my friends, come join us!