Reflections on 19 months of nomadicism
19 things I learned living and working in other people's homes.
Remember me? It’s been 364 days since my last post. Whoops. But rest assured Weirdness Wins was merely in extended hibernation — there will be plenty more delectable digressions into culture, communication, and consciousness coming your way.
Since the last transmission, I’ve turned 40, gotten married, bought a house in England’s highest market town, co-authored a report that Design Week listed in its top 25 people and projects of 2025, and taken a multi-heroic dose of mushrooms (12 grams, if you’re curious) in a shamanic healing ceremony – I’ll likely write more about that last bit soon!
Most of these things happened whilst I was living untethered from any fixed address. From August 2024 to March 2026, my wife, Rhian, and I roamed the British Isles and spent six weeks stationed in the south of France, living as full-time housesitters.
That meant looking after people’s homes and pets while they mostly went on lengthy long-haul trips. We got rent-free, often spectacular, accommodation. They got live-in dog-walkers and burglar-discouragers. No money changed hands, and Rhian and I both continued working throughout. In total, we lived in 21 different homes during this 19 month adventure. We used a service called Trusted Housesitters to organise everything.
I should have kept a journal during this strange liminal stage in our lives, but, alas, I didn’t. So here’s the next best thing — 19 Substack-shaped reflections now the itinerancy is over…
1. Weird lifestyle choices are icebreaker gold
I understand the value of small-talk as low-stakes conversational lubricant. But I mostly find it pretty awkward. When I was housesitting, though, introductory chit-chat never felt like a slog. In pub encounters with staff and punters who noticed our out-of-town accents, on work calls and virtual coffees, people were invariably curious about this non-standard way of life. Many seemed to wish they could do something similar, if only there were fewer regular responsibilities to consider. Some definitely just found it bizarre. But nobody was indifferent. If you find “what have you been up to?” as excruciating as I often do, that might be a sign you need to up the unconventional ante.
2. First and final impressions are everything
I knew this already, but it still feels worth saying. We always made a conspicuous effort to be as charming and reassuring as possible in our opening messages to people whose houses we hoped to borrow. During sits, we always over-communicated, sending daily ‘Pupdates’ with pics of people’s pets having a grand old time. And Rhian always baked something sweet for the homeowners to enjoy on their return – a gesture most people mentioned in the reviews they wrote for us.
3. Hosting people in their homes is odd (and fun)
On a few occasions, we ended up cooking for our housesit homeowners – either before they left, or when they returned. There’s something uniquely convivial (and a little surreal) about hosting people in a space where they already feel so comfortable. I’m not quite sure how we might recreate this dynamic outside of housesit-life, but I’d like to figure out a way! Houseswap supper club, anyone?
4. Conversations with strangers are good for the soul
Housesitting brought us into the orbit of such an interesting and eclectic mix of people. As you may have gathered from my first reflection, initiating conversations with people I don’t know isn’t always the easiest thing for me. So it was great to find myself in a situation where that was no longer a question of inclination — there was simply no escape. Sure, housesitting seems to attract a certain breed of friendly, open-minded humans, but the conversations over dinner and on walks with these people felt like genuine gifts in a world so riddled with division.
5. Tragedy is universal
“Loss is our atmosphere; we, like the snow, are always falling toward the ground, and most of the time we forget it.”
– Meghan O’Rourke
So often, in these conversations, we learned about the losses families had experienced. Whatever our values, whatever our lifestyles, grief is a thread that ultimately joins us all. Remembering this can keep our empathic energies animated, in defiance of the poisonous Muskian ideology that seems to be infecting the minds of so many.
6. White quartz kitchen counters aren’t worth the stress
Seriously — what’s with picking such an easily-stainable material for your worktops? Two sub-lessons here:
Never leave a wet cast iron pan to drain on white quartz.
If you do, raw potatoes are your friend — it’s the oxalic acid, apparently.
7. People should care more about home audio
Time after time, we found ourselves in beautiful, comfortable homes with huge TVs and not so much as a soundbar connected to them. I’m not saying everyone needs to be an absolute audiophile, but if you enjoy televisual entertainment at home, the experience will be immeasurably improved with a decent set of speakers and a subwoofer.
8. Life without live music feels incomplete
One side-effect of our mostly rural existence over these 19 nomadic months was that we went to far fewer gigs than we normally would. It turns out that no amount of birdsong can fill that void. When we did venture into the nearest city, we watched bands whenever we could — often artists we hadn’t heard of before we browsed the local listings. Ticket prices for big names in big arenas are bananas these days. So go out and support the smaller independent venues wherever you are, and don’t just wait for the bands you already know and love to come to town.
9. You should always be able to walk to a pub
One of the cool things about housesitting was that it helped us refine the criteria for where we wanted to live longer term. One thing it confirmed was how much walkable amenities matter. Having a decent pub in strolling distance, is, I now believe, a luxury everyone deserves.
10. There are still plenty of places in the UK where people don’t lock their doors
Having grown up and lived for most of my life in Greater Manchester, and having been burgled more than once, I’m pretty home-security-conscious. So staying in some of the UK’s less crime-stained locales was refreshing, if a little bittersweet — it made the regular background static of suspicion that infuses a more urban life harder to ignore, and highlighted how corrosive inequality is to our collective wellbeing.
11. Online delivery is miraculous
Being able to get my prescriptions dropped off wherever we were, replacing the bit of someone’s BBQ I broke with minimal effort, augmenting our stripped-back wardrobes with the occasional Vinted purchase… it’s easy to take all this infrastructure for granted. But when you stop to think about it, the only reasonable reaction is awe.
12. Power cuts are a gift
The magic of electricity is something else we don’t generally appreciate as fully as we maybe should. It’s only when the power goes out that we notice how reliant we are on the alternating current otherwise oscillating 50 times a second in our property’s copper veins. But outages are also an opportunity to light some candles, unbox a board game, open a bottle of something nice, and exist, for a while, at a simpler frequency. So always be prepared to make the most of one.
13. Not all cats are aloof
Neither Rhian nor I really considered ourselves cat people before this adventure began. Maybe you’re also staunchly Team Dog. But having had the pleasure of living with some exceptionally affectionate feline friends, our identities have expanded accordingly. What other limiting beliefs might we soon be ready to shed?
14. You can’t have too much parmesan
We stayed at an incredible house in the Highlands, surrounded by pine forest, red squirrels outside our kitchen window every day. The couple that owned it bought their parmesan by the kilo. New aspiration unlocked.
15. These audiobooks are worth your time
When we were on the road between sits (and driving from Antwerp to Carcassonne), we listened to some fantastic audiobooks. Here are three nonfiction beauties I’d thoroughly recommend checking out:
Far and Away: The Essential A.A. Gill (narrated by Bill Nighy)
The Place of Tides, by James Rebanks
Love and Let Die: Bond, the Beatles, and the British Psyche, by John Higgs
16. Hobbies matter
For me, being on the move all the time made it harder to carve out space in my mind, and schedule, for some of the practices that nourish me — writing this newsletter, DJing, playing around with collage. Cooking and photography remained ever-present creative outlets, and the novelty of exploring new places kept my subconscious soil fairly fertile, but there was definitely something missing. And regular social hobbies, whether sport-based or whatever else, are pretty much impossible as a nomad. As I re-enter “normal” life, I’m mindful of making more time for this stuff.
17. Cinnamon that went out of date in 1975 doesn’t smell of anything at all
Just in case you were wondering.
18. Community is priceless
We basically sacrificed a social life in service of this 19-month experiment. We did have interludes with friends and family, and we were always given an enthusiastic welcome by neighbours and locals who recognised the dogs we were walking wherever we were, but we were essentially cut off from community for close to two years. Like countless nomads before us, we learned that no amount of freedom can replace deep, reciprocal connection to place and people (a pathetically predictable narrative arc, I know). But if you’re far away from human friends, having hounds to hang out with definitely makes a difference.
19. Home is a vibe
We found it only took us a day or so to genuinely feel at home almost everywhere we stayed. Yes, we travelled with our favourite mugs and other outlandish indulgences including my Herman Miller office chair. Yes, we stayed in some remarkable buildings. Mostly we got lucky on the comfy mattress front. But it wasn’t the stuff that made most housesits feel like home. It was the way we were welcomed. The energy of the animals. Preparing and eating meals together in each new kitchen, wondering where the fuck we might find a sieve. Little rituals like asking each other about our favourite sights and sounds from the day in bed each night. Adorable, right?
Thanks for allowing me a full fallow year. I’ll be back in your inbox again soon. If you’re a recent subscriber, here are some older posts you might enjoy:
PEACE x
What an adventure - and to kick off your 40s as well! Thanks for sharing x
Joel, I love this for you. Keep writing please x