#33: I'm not who I said I am 🪞

relinquishing the nomad label and redefining what travel means to me

I haven’t had a lease in years. In March 2020, I moved to New York City from San Francisco for a new work rotation. When the pandemic shut down the city I was about to call my new home and then took away my job two months later, I felt like I was being abandoned in the midst of an earthquake. I should’ve known earlier that chaos was about to be unleashed as I traveled from London to Bangalore to Taipei in February 2020, but even the experts had no idea what was going on. The forced upheaval of my life convinced me that I had been conscripted into a lifestyle characterized by instability and movement. Once I got a new job, without anything keeping me rooted, I immediately hit the road.

A year ago I called myself a nomad

In my second blog post (an exact year ago!), I proclaimed myself a nomad. Without a strong sense of home, it was easier to join a decentralized ragtag clan of laptop warriors than evaluate where to commit to. To be fair, I have traveled a lot. But then why does the nomad label feel off now and maybe even a bit insulting? Actual nomads like Mongolian herders utilized livestock and lightweight shelters to seek out sustenance based on dynamic weather conditions and food availability. They didn’t have a choice. Today’s nomads hunt for novelty and crave a luxurious lifestyle afforded only by currency arbitrage. By definition, an identity that revolves around collecting passport stamps and scratching off a map with a coin to reveal recently visited countries doesn’t have a defined end state. They remain in commitment-limbo, yearning for newness in perpetuity. I guess my main gripe with nomads is that they don’t know what they want, for if they found it, they would know to stop. I’d like to be known as, if not to others just to myself, someone who knew what they wanted and then followed through. Based on this definition, I can’t be a nomad.

I’m on a quest of self-discovery to answer questions

I have a bunch of beliefs on how to live that run counter to societal norms. Rather than spill the beans with all my hot takes, let me first present them in the form of contemplative questions:

• What does it mean to feel at home? Does it have to be where we grew up, where our parents live, or where we currently reside?

• Is it possible to have multiple homes? (not physical houses)

• How can one maintain relationships with close friends who don’t all live in one place?

• How does one build a sense of community? Does community exist in one physical location or can it cross multiple dimensions and mediums?

Like Jonas Salk injected himself (and his family) with the polio vaccine to prove its efficacy, I’m experimenting by self-administering my own beliefs through a lifestyle that revolves around living in multiple places I call home.

It’s still technically traveling, but it doesn’t feel that way

People often ask me “Do you ever get lonely?” or “Don’t you get tired from traveling so much?” These questions, while well-intentioned, presuppose that by being less-rooted, I sacrifice comfort and belonging for adventure and freshness. The difficulty is not in loneliness, but rather trying to nurture relationships across multiple places. I try to make it work by traveling with friends, visiting friends, or purposefully seeking solitude. Maintaining a sense of community in more than one place can be overwhelming, but I know it’s worth it. Sometimes it feels like I’m juggling houseplants in the air while also trying to keep them alive. But I’ve definitely felt tired from traveling before. The nonstop stream of decision-making when in a new place is so cognitively taxing that I now empathize with why Zuck wears the same black t-shirt everyday. However, recently I haven’t felt like I’ve been traveling. I’m physically moving from one place to another, but I never lose sense of familiarity. I’m just going from one home to another. I just came back from Oahu, Hawaii. I went back to visit friends, rekindle the magical sensation of surfing, and replenish the mana (energy/vibes/creative juice). Immediately when I landed, I went straight from the airport to the run club that my friend co-leads. As we ran past the rolling turquoise waves, I felt a potent dose of familiarity. I felt this sensation every time I biked from one place to another without having to check Google Maps. When my yoga teacher told me to just come back without buying any more drop-in passes. When I made dinner, it felt like I knew where everything was even though it was my first time in my friend’s kitchen.

Thai style salad, eggplant with doubanjiang, chicken two ways (ginger scallion, chili oil)

I know I’m missing out on some things

There have to be some downsides to living in multiple places. My friend didn’t invite me to his birthday because he didn’t even know I was in town. It’s harder to showcase my personality when I don’t have any coffee table books or posters of favorite bands hanging on my walls. I can’t fit that stuff in my suitcase and the walls I live in aren’t my walls. Friends that don’t like to make plans ahead of time push off scheduling anything until it’s too late. You’re already Ubering back to the airport. For as long as I live this way, there will always be missed moments of serendipity. These are the tradeoffs I make to flow with the seasons and attend to my multidimensional set of ambitions.

I’m not who I said I am

Last year, as I counted down the last few days of employment, I mentally committed to visiting Iceland and the Dolomites this year. This wasn’t your typical spontaneous Instagram-driven burst of wanderlust. I was getting quality recommendations first-hand from domain experts through the podcast. Outdoor athlete Michelle told my co-host Abe and I her most memorable trip was backpacking the Dolomites. Then adventure photographer Terry (who has spent over 140 days in Iceland) convinced me I had to go see the country myself. A couple weeks ago, I realized the travel itch had dissipated. I still want to travel. But I no longer feel the allure of traveling to new places. Other things became more important to me. I want to pour more energy into this blog, my climate newsletter Build in Climate, and my podcast On The Rise. Rather than prioritize places, I’m prioritizing people. Instead of seeking out more of what’s new, I’m going to live in places that feel like home: Hawaii, the Bay/Tahoe, and NYC. I’ve traveled enough for now and it’s time to build a place I can call home. It’s not one place and I don’t think that it has to be.

P.S. But who am I to say anything? I’m going to Bali in a month ✌️(in my defense, it’s a surf trip with two homies that was planned a while ago)

P.P.S I’ve always written about whatever I want by channeling a level of self-awareness. I guess I think about a lot of different things because I end up writing about travel, adventure, work, identity, performance, and meaning with a lil bit of philosophy and spirituality sprinkled in. I’m still going to write about whatever I’m most interested in , but if you have specific questions or topics that you’d be interested in reading from me, please let me know! The crux of all this is finding the venn diagram intersection between what I care about and what you care about 🤙