I’m Not Living The Dream

I’m a nomad. I have been for more than two years now. I’ve hiked atop a glacier in New Zealand, enjoyed an opera beneath the Acropolis, spoken with teenage zinc miners in Bolivia, played with tiger cubs in Thailand, and done some very shady currency deals in Argentina.

And I’m not living the dream.

After talking with a buddy who desired this lifestyle, I decided to write this. She wanted to sell all she owned and travel the globe permanently. This isn't the first time a buddy has approached me with a scheme like this. I couldn't be sure, but I had a sneaky hunch she was planning a killer Instagram feed and amazing stories to share when she got back. She'd receive those things, but it'd be deceptive to claim she'd just get those things.

I wanted to tell her about my experience standing on the bow of an Australian sailboat. I'd spent the day on Whitehaven Beach and snorkeling between the Whitsunday Islands. Despite this, I felt...empty as I gazed out over the sea. On a crowded boat, I felt isolated. This seemed to me to be just another sunset, gorgeous as it was, but not objectively superior than those off the coasts of Kona, Koh Tao, Samara, or Santorini. I was terrified because I had been numb to the breathtaking scenery.

You could believe I come across as a spoiled brat. You may believe I have no right to complain (more on that in a minute). "How could he whine while talking about his frequent flyer miles?"

To tell you the truth, I agree with you. There are some remarkable aspects of my life. I shouldn't be moaning when compared to the great majority of the globe. But I feel forced to add "...but things aren't ideal" whenever I share stories of who I've met and where I've gone.

The fact is that this way of living is incredibly draining. For the most of 2015, I slept in the same bed for little more than three weeks. It was a fascinating experience, but it's not one I'd like to repeat. While I have met several lifetime pals through my travels, the great majority of my new relationships are transient. Within 72 hours, we meet, trade tales, and depart. It's doubtful that we'll ever see one other again, to be honest.

And my old buddies have changed while I've been gone. I've lost out on plenty of opportunities to rejoice, commiserate, and reflect. Birthdays, graduations, and housewarmings have become a window into birthdays, graduations, and housewarmings; so close but so remote. I'd want to be there in person, building fresh memories and inside jokes, but I've settled for passport stamps and cultural shocks instead. If anything, I'm fortunate that I haven't missed any of the most major events in my life, such as weddings, births, and deaths.

I've had wonderful experiences over the previous two years, but no one to share them with on a regular basis. I've become better at sharing personal information with strangers, but I've gotten worse at feeling connected to individuals. I've had moments of awe and majesty intermingled with deep loneliness.

However, at the end of the day, I don't believe I have the authority to complain. How could I take for granted these magnificent sunsets and hilltop views? How can I complain about being lonely when I've had experiences that only 1% of 1% of people have? So I bite my tongue, put on a happy front, and ignore the negative aspects (which is the decidedly wrong approach, by the way).

Even as I type this, I'm afraid to push the publish button. I'm terrified of coming across as a spoiled brat. I'm not sure if I should apologize or express thanks for these opportunities. Because I appreciate it. I'm grateful for my adaptable skill set, the fact that I'm (relatively) debt-free, and the fact that I'm not female/gay/trans/any of the other identities that would put me in danger and lead to persecution in many areas of the world.

I'm not living the dream, either.

So see this as me speaking up. I want to communicate my tales, but a story that is delivered with staged situations and edited images isn't true. I'm not going to brag about the highs until I'm also honest about the lows. Because, let's face it, celebrating this way of life is a cop-out. Uploading album after album on social media is simple. Photographing the Northern Lights or taking a picture in front of Machu Picchu is simple. It's difficult to discuss how difficult it is to get up at 5 a.m. to work as a tour guide or how much you miss your friends and family. It's difficult to recognize, even to oneself, that a globe traveler's lifestyle is flawed.

And if you're a traveler like me who feels like you should be spending more time celebrating the highs and less time wallowing in the lows, I urge you to speak up. I strongly advise you to speak with someone, because I understand how difficult it is to form a support network when you're continuously on the road. Making new plans and meeting new people every few days takes a physical and emotional toll. It's easy to develop anxiety, solitude, or even despair when you don't have somebody to confide in or rely on.

Thank you.