When we left America, I was also worried that I would lose touch with my existing friends back home. Ironically, nomadism – and aging – is actually the case strengthened many of these friendships, like the one I have with Tom. I no longer take them for granted.

That may be why, like those awful Jack in the Box tacos, it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth when I’m away from home again for Christmas.

My father died earlier this year. He was 94 years old and had often expressed in recent years that he had lived a good life and was ready to die.

The truth is that I remember him most vividly forty years ago, when he was in his mid-fifties. It happened after my brother and I grew up and went to college, but before my mother became ill and died of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. Back then, my parents were both still fit and active – and so lively. They quickly embraced their newfound “freedom” and spent time with friends and family, but also traveled around the world.

My father was the same age as I am now.

I love my life as a nomad and the last six years traveling the world with Michael have been some of the best of my life. But at the same time you can’t have everything in life. You have to choose. And whatever you choose, you won’t be able to keep it for long.