From the Empire State to the World: My Nomad Story

At 28, I felt like I had it all.

I was living in New York City (a place I’d arguably still say is the best city in the world).

I’d just landed my dream job that came with an office in the iconic Empire State Building and a hefty international travel budget.

I had an awesome and relatively affordable apartment in Brooklyn, a boyfriend I adored, and all my best friends nearby.

I really felt like I had reached my peak.

The view from my office in the Empire State Building.

Then COVID came. My hybrid job went fully remote and my $3,400/month apartment stopped being a door to the city and more of a cage. I realized if someone else were to pay my rent, I could take that same money and go pay for a flight and an apartment elsewhere.

So I found some subletters, called my most spontaneous friend, and convinced her to come to Puerto Rico with me. We booked an Airbnb right on the beach and spent the month working to the soundtrack of waves crashing, learning about Puerto Rican culture from our neighbor, and doing rainforest and island excursions on the weekends. It was SO. MUCH. FREAKING. FUN.

That whole month I had felt the same thrill I had when I studied abroad in Spain during college. A time when my only responsibilities were to work and explore. It was the best six months of my life and while I had always dreamed of having that freedom and fun again, I didn’t think it was possible as you got older. I thought my best days were behind me.

The day we were supposed to leave Puerto Rico, I got emotional and anxious in a way I’d never felt before. It was like I had unlocked the cheat-code to a great life and now had to go back to reality.

Why couldn’t life always be this fun?

After my friend left for her flight, I broke down crying along in the Airbnb. I remember taking a picture of myself because I didn’t want to forget that feeling. I knew it would be easy to go back to the comfort of a normal life and suppress the little voice in my head wondering if this could be something more.

Crying in my Puerto Rican Airbnb.
I hate this photo but had to show you it was real.

I thought I had it all but I had been stagnant. Comfortable. There was room for me to grow. All it required a big leap of faith.

After Puerto Rico, I went to visit my parents because my apartment was still occupied by subletters. On a walk with my mom, I finally floated the idea that had been stuck in my mind since the day I left the island. What if I give up my apartment and just lived out of AirBnBs?

I tried to think through it responsibly. Is this a legal way to live? Is it actually possible to just…not have a permanent home…while still working a full-time, professional job? I’d never heard of this type of lifestyle before. To be quite honest, I thought I had made it up. But it didn’t matter that she told me I was crazy, my mind was already made up before I even said it out loud.

I gave my subletters a move-out date, booked a flight back to NY in April and told my landlord of six years I was letting the lease to my coveted apartment expire in May.

Then I packed up one suitcase for the road and three for my grandma’s basement – one with winter clothes I hoped to never see again, one of business clothes I hoped to never wear again, and one of memories I didn’t have the heart to throw away.