Homeless by Choice: A Surprising Trend

The Humor In Homelessness: A Seattle hobo in 2007

“Wanderlust” can’t be helped. At least, that seems to be part of what Ben Reitman’s Sisters of the Road was all about. Boxcar Bertha was a woman on the move, a traveler too thirsty to be quenched by any one city or home, an eternal dharma bum. When Bertha sets out on another adventure, she describes them using words like “unforgettable,” capturing in her descriptions some kind of freedom unattainable by those who are tied down, who do not travel—who have a home. Even when things seem stable in her life, she can’t handle being hemmed in by the normality. “My work was fascinating… Baby Dear was well and flourishing,” she writes. “But the old wanderlust was upon me.” And travel is the escape, the cure for the boredom that may overcome one stuck in any town for too long. Not that it is always pleasant, or voluntary—Woody Guthrie’s excerpt contains many accounts of almost fatal hunger and cold, and Boxcar Bertha hinted at perils like rape and other sexual harassment faced by a young woman traveling alone.

But at the same time there is still an irresistible attractiveness to the freedom of life on the road, completely separated from “The Man,” and a yearning for the solidarity shared by a group of people like the boxcar riders Edward Anderson writes about. This type of on-the-road camaraderie can be traced back to the camps of The Grapes of Wrath, and ironically places the hobo in an almost elitist position as a part of a group only few can claim membership to. These travelers, “rootless, dispirited, and responsible to no one” formed a definite “subculture,” as James Gregory points out in his foreword to Hungry Men. So in our modern day and age, when we have not yet reached another Great Depression, do these subcultures still exist? Do people romanticize the hobo lifestyle and claim unquenchable wanderlust like Boxcar Bertha? And if so, why?

They do still exist. In fact, the phenomenon of homelessness has spread from not just people who are forced into hobo lifestyles, but people who choose to be homeless. I think this is an idea hinted at in Boxcar Bertha—the idea that restlessness and wanderlust is simply in some people’s veins and they can’t help it. Google “homeless by choice” and you’ll find thousands of accounts from varying perspectives on this trend. This story details a sister’s tortured relationship with her “homeless by choice” brother, a boy raised in a middle class family who could have had a “normal” lifestyle, but instead hit the road at 18 and hasn’t been back since. He’s joined groups like The Rainbow Family of Living Light, an organization that vaguely reminded me of Home Colony in Boxcar Bertha. The brother’s choice has obviously brought much pain upon the family, and the sister says at one point, “He’s my brother, and I still love him through all of my disgust…. No one has the answers at this point. This odd breed of homeless individuals seems to be growing and thriving, presenting strange difficulties. After all, how do you get someone off the streets who chooses to be there?”

Here are more accounts from some homeless by choice: tips from a man who lives in his car to save money so he can pay off his credit card debt, weird accounts from a mathematics student who lived in the physics undergraduate lounge at Arizona State University, and more travel tips from a laid-off baggage claim attendant who now sleeps in airports. Why do these people do what they do? I must admit, I can see the appeal—not answering to institutions, living everywhere across America, traveling as you want to—but as Boxcar Bertha queried, I’m not sure if I ever really will understand restlessness.