Nomad
by YASMINE GRIER
in Spring 2025
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nomad (n): a member of a people who have no fixed residence but move from place to place usually seasonally and within a well-defined territory[1]
I was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. Since my birth in 2001, I’ve lived in four states and D.C.; we changed locations practically every two years. Now, that may not sound like a lot, considering that military families seem to move every day. It seems.
But for me? It was hell.
I’ve had some amazing experiences, widened my social circle, developed people skills more advanced than my peers’. But it’s been rough. Moving around so much at a young age can really take a toll on a person. When my friends were finalizing their social groups, having sleepovers, and developing crushes, I was constantly in search of new friends. I couldn’t go over Grandma’s for the weekend or Aunt Sonya’s for Christmas dinner. We didn’t take vacations because my Dad was always settling into a new job and couldn’t afford to miss work. There were no traditional dinner spots or movie theaters, PTA meetings or Disney trips. Moving across the country with no extended relatives or friends, all I had was my immediate family. When the power went out because we didn’t pay the bill, we had each other. When I pretty much raised my siblings after school because my parents were at work, we had each other. When we all struggled with adapting to a new place relative to our own tribulations, we had each other. They were my home even when ours wasn’t permanent.
Nomads traveled across regions in groups. Unsure of where they were going or what lay ahead, they had each other. I like to joke with my family and say we’re nomads sometimes. Now, with them hundreds of miles away from me, I still feel right at home. If you know me, you know how much of a family girl I am; I do everything with them. All that cheesy stuff you see on TV? Yeah, that’s us. It’s always been that way. I haven’t always had friends to talk to or outside shoulders to cry on. But my family has always been there.
The family dynamic can be such an interesting thing. You manage to thrive in a collectivist culture, putting the interests of the family, the group, first. Simultaneously, you embrace individualist culture. I am me, my brother is Tyler, we are not one and the same. My sisters are Sydney and Gabby, and despite my Mom dressing them alike for so many years— they are not twins; they are their own people. We were a well-oiled machine made of various distinct parts, same destination, different purposes.
In the midst of the many existential crises one faces in the coming years of adulthood, I find myself often reflecting on life thus far. Who am I? Whose am I? Where do I come from? What do I want people to know about me? How do I present myself?
I am a direct reflection of my family. If you know me, you know them. It will always be that way.
* * *
07/04/2019 Estes Park, Colorado 5:46 p.m.
“You make me wanna leave the one I’m with, start a new relationship with you...”
My eyes moved from the screen on the back of my Dad’s seat to the car window. Immense rocks, hues of burnt orange, bronze, amber, apricot, towered over the road we drove on. Schools of trout celebrated in the ravine below for they knew what was to come. My brother rolled down his window and the fresh air from the Colorado Rockies filled my nostrils, my lungs liberating my airways.
“Yep. I just lost service. Great,” Tyler sighed. I checked my cell phone— 1x. No cell reception.
Usher did a backflip on the screen overhead. My Dad’s fingers drummed to the beat on the steering wheel. I looked back at my younger sisters in the third row, both sound asleep, heads cocked. In the passenger seat, my Mom’s auburn tendrils looked fiery in the sunlight pouring in from the sunroof. The car made sharp curves and turns as we progressed further up the mountainside. The translucent white clouds against the periwinkle evening sky showed no signs of air pollution— something I still hadn’t gotten used to.
Fact: In one week, I would turn eighteen. In one month, I would move into my college dorm and begin the rest of my life.
Fact: It was the Fourth of July; I wanted to be back home in Baltimore partying with my friends and making fun of people who couldn’t handle their liquor, not going to Lord Knows What’s in Estes Park, Colorado to see fireworks.
Fact: I had always loved fireworks, but this wasn’t the plan.
And yet, I couldn’t help but appreciate where I found myself and with whom.
* * *
01/02/2020 Lawrenceville, Georgia
I looked down at my fingers and fiddled with them, avoiding eye contact with my Mom, who saw right through me.
I stood at one end of the master bathroom counter, she the other; something like a Jordan Peele movie scene. She was my doppelganger or rather, I was hers. Looking at her through the long glass mirror, I could see her features clearly. She had recently begun aging; her beauty marks and fine lines were more noticeable. Her yellow undertones shone in the white light. She had studs in her ears, I had hoops (wanted to try something new). We both wore buns; mine low, hers high. Our clear eyeglasses of a similar frame looked almost identical. I’d had mine for over a year and she had just gotten hers.
Look at my glasses! *sticks tongue out*
Crazy how they look exactly like mine and I got mine first, you’re literally my son.
Yeah well, I’m your mother so HA!
Her feet crossed one over the other, mine the same. Her hands in her pockets, mine as well. I’d only been away at school for four months and somehow managed to get a boyfriend who would later become my ex. My mom is my best friend, I tell her everything. After months spent ranting about the emotional turmoil rewarded by my premature college relationship, we’d ended up here.
“I still love him, you know? I mean I think I do, that’s what it feels like. Our bond is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt with the others.”
She sighed.
“You like that he’s there for you and how he makes you feel, but that’s not love. You can do better and you know that. And you’ve known it this whole time. You may have been gone for four months, but I can still feel you. You’re my child. I know you.”
* * *
07/04/2019 Estes Park, Colorado 7:32 p.m.
“Can you pass me the ketchup?”
We had stopped at Penelope’s World Famous Burgers, a hole-in-the-wall food spot, maybe known for its burgers. “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis played softly in the background; it was washed out by the voices of eager families ready to crush their hunger. Being a party of six packed at a table meant for four brought me a sense of security I hadn’t felt before. My Mom was sharing a meme she saw on Facebook—I’d definitely already seen it, but I’d let her enjoy it anyway. I had to let her have this one.
I looked out the window to the brown, snow-capped mountains touching the skyline. The cars lined up in front of the light. The couples across the street getting ice cream. The red poinsettias and green holly lining the door frame of the Christmas Shoppe across the street…in July. I looked back at my own family. Tyler who was maturing into a grown man before my eyes; the fuzzy caterpillar above his lip definitely wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Sydney and Gabby, two years apart, but a twin package all the same; their bubbly personalities complemented each other perfectly. My Dad was always more vulnerable around us, with a laugh so contagious. When he smiled, one couldn’t help but notice his chipped front tooth, accompanied by a slight gap just like mine. My Mom who always cocked her head back when she laughed, the twinkle in her eyes warmed my heart.
This was us. This is us. Somehow, at that moment, on that day, I felt closer to them than I had in the almost-eighteen years of my existence. They say you don’t truly value things until they’re gone. That hit a little too close to home. Suddenly, I enjoyed being with them way more than any stupid party. Within a couple of weeks, it would all be gone. I’d be navigating through life on my own. While I wasn’t moving out forever, things wouldn’t be the same. No more hugs from my Mom when I had a bad day. Or dancing with my sisters to get my mind off things. Or helping Tyler traverse puberty and the teenage life at 2 a.m. Or bonding with my Dad over the background instrumental aspects in all our favorite songs. It was just me.
* * *
01/06/2020 Lawrenceville, Georgia
My hands wet with dishwater, I hummed the lyrics to “Pearls” by Sade. I overheard my Mom upstairs shuffling to get Sydney and Gabby in bed for the night. “All I do is tell y’all to put your bonnets back in the right place, and yet we still go through this every night.” I glanced at the oven clock. 11:49 p.m. A little late for a school night. My brother and grandmother were arguing about how his room now permanently smells like perfume. A gentle breeze floated through the kitchen window, my muscles relaxed.
I put the last fork in the dishwasher when I heard my Dad’s loud footsteps in the dining room. His walk is always so assertive. He swooped behind me and placed a dish in the sink.
“Just had to be the one, huh?” I joked. When I heard no response, I turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, headed upstairs.
“I love you, kid.”
I paused. Completely caught off guard. While I’ve always known my Dad loved me, it was weird hearing him say it. When I was younger, he’d kiss me goodnight when he was leaving for the airport. We hugged often, and sometimes he’d lie on my bed just to be in my presence. But this overt display of affection… this directness… this was different. I wish I could tell you what kept me from saying it back.
“You’re pretty cool, too.”
I could tell my friends I loved them, yet saying it to my Dad was way harder than it seemed. Albeit, there was a mutual understanding that the love was there. I didn’t have to say it for it to be felt— it just was. That was us. That is us.
* * *
07/04/2019 Estes Park, Colorado 9:14 p.m.
Birds flew overhead, heading to Lord knows where. The deep indigo sky made the lake a murky black. Around me, families old and new, big and small, pulled out their lawn chairs and blankets to watch the show. Where are they from? What’s their story? I studied the boathouses across the lake, they looked like money. I could see yellow lights reflecting on the lake. Standing on gravel and grass didn’t seem like the best thing for my Target sandals, but I could get a little dirty for once. The open space was so liberating. I closed my eyes, inhaled, held it for a moment. I inhaled the OFF! spray surrounding me—even though I hadn’t seen a single mosquito since moving to Colorado. A chill floated down my back; summer in Colorado wasn’t really “summer”. Exhale.
BOOM!
Red and green lights reflected on the water from the first firework. I glanced over at my parents who were holding each other, holding twenty-three years of love. Erica and Sean. Their high school sweetheart days turned into a family, a home, never-ending affection. Inextricably linked. A legacy.
BOOM!
We were that legacy. Blue this time, the crackle from the firework left a ringing sensation in my ears. Gabby was in Tyler’s arms, and for once he wasn’t complaining. Pretty soon, he’d be the oldest kid in the house. He’d already begun maturing and taking on the paternal nature he’d always avoided. There was love in him.
BOOM!
Pure white. Sydney leaned on me, burrowing herself in my jacket for warmth. She was acting like a baby, but I’d let her. I wouldn’t be around for much longer if that was what she needed, so be it.
This was us. This is us. Even in that foreign land, they were my home. Even though I’ve since moved out and have a place of my own across the country, they are my home.
[1] “Nomad Definition & Meaning.” Merriam-Webster. Accessed February 10, 2020. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/nomad.
Yasmine Grier is a writer and researcher from Baltimore, Maryland. She is a PhD student in the Department of Black Studies at Northwestern University with research interests including the intellectual histories of the Black Radical Tradition and Black feminist theory, Black girlhood, 20th-century social movements, and Black critical and political theory. At Northwestern, she is a Mellon Interdisciplinary Cluster Fellowship in Critical Theory. Yasmine is an alumna of Howard University and has worked in sociopolitical research capacities as well as in the educational nonprofit space. She envisions her work as a love letter to Black girls and women and is forever in service to them.
