How I Gave Up My Apartment and Became a Digital Nomad

One early morning when I was five, I packed a peach in my Disney World dragon backpack, left a note reassuring my parents I'd be back soon, and tiptoed out the door to explore my neighborhood. I only made it two blocks, but that impulse to take off with nothing but my backpack would one day carry me farther.

During my first job after college, I’d couch surf with friends in other cities on work-from-home weeks. I fantasized about doing this nonstop. What if I didn’t even need an apartment? Years passed before I learned there were people—digital nomads—who actually did this. I listened with disbelief to their stories of paying off student debt while sunbathing in Bali and practicing their Spanish after work with Tinder dates in Argentina. Knowing others managed this suddenly made it seem feasible.

The main thing holding me back was my Silicon Valley tech startup job. I'd been warned that freelancing was unstable, so I kept my 9-to-5 and built my writing career on nights and weekends. I spent three long months sending personal essays and silly listicles to editors, hoping something would land. Then, 80 percent of my company was laid off, and it turned out freelancing was actually my real source of stability. Clients started offering me daily and weekly assignments.

Logistically, there was nothing stopping me from traveling the world at that point. But psychologically, things weren't so simple. Just the thought of figuring out what to do with my apartment, furniture, and belongings made my head hurt. So did the prospect of constantly wondering where I’d stay each night and how I’d get there. I was too overwhelmed by work to start considering all these logistics.

So I spent the following year in New York instead. I got an unbelievable deal on a Manhattan studio I loved and established friendships, work connections, and favorite running paths and cafés. Yet I was always making little trips around the country, itching for a change of scenery. Sometimes I'd browse Airbnb just to fantasize about apartments in foreign settings.

Ultimately the kick in the ass I needed was love. During a vacation in Ibiza last June, I fell in love with a German man. I spent the plane ride home blinking back tears and stifling sniffles for the sake of the passengers unlucky enough to sit next to me. "I can't just go to Germany," I thought. Then the realization hit me: Yeah, I kinda could.

It took just a few more seconds for me to arrive at that statement's natural conclusion: I could go anywhere. I could visit him and see the rest of the world while I was at it. The next day was the deadline to renew my lease, and I had fully intended to. Instead, I threw the contract away.

I thought I’d made my decision there and then, but I had to keep making it again and again. I made it when I warned my clients I’d no longer always be available during Eastern-time work hours and prayed they wouldn't fire me. I remade it when I hired someone on Task Rabbit (final cost: just $258.82) to disassemble the furniture I’d spent hours picking out, pack up all my stuff, and get it into storage.

I made my choice for the last time four months later, when my boyfriend (yup, the one from Ibiza) and I got all my old stuff delivered to the New York apartment we were renting for the holidays, put almost everything into garbage bags or Goodwill donation bags, and took the three remaining suitcases to my parents’ house. Since all my furniture was in a unit in New Jersey, I couldn't sell it or find a charity to take it, so a lucky couple from Craigslist got it for free. Multiple users of digital nomad forums had warned me about this classic mistake: Nomads always put their stuff in storage thinking maybe they'll come back. They never do.

For safety advice, I turned to other female nomads. Kelly Chase and Kari DePhillips, who host a podcast called Workationing about the digital nomad life, told me to check the bylines on travel guides, since articles written by men don’t always take women’s safety into account. Product designer Ariana O’Dell recommended I tell people who make me uncomfortable that I'm meeting up with guy friends or a boyfriend, or even get on the phone and say something like "I’ll be there soon" so it sounds like people are accounting for me.

Thankfully I haven't had to use any of these tips, but I have gotten into some difficult situations. Here are a few issues I eventually figured out how to deal with:

Lodging: The truth is, you can find somewhere to stay for little to nothing nearly anywhere. But you get what you pay for. For free, I got a Couchsurfing host who texted me the next day about how hard it was to refrain from kissing me. For $10 a night, I got a hostel bed adjacent to a guest who spent all night telling me why he was the next Michael Jackson. For $50, I got an Airbnb whose host slept on the couch outside my room as her bird chirped into the wee hours of the morning. For $100, I got a cozy central hotel with a mini bar. So now I splurge when I can't stay with a friend.

Calls and texts: Americans have this idea that you need SMS, but in Europe pretty much everyone relies on WhatsApp. You should never have to make an international call. FaceTime, Skype, and Google Hangouts are all also free. You can even call someone on their phone from Gmail.

Internet: To get Internet on your phone, you may need to purchase a SIM card each time you enter a new country and stop at convenience stores to buy more data if it runs out. Once you're online, websites may redirect and videos may not be "available in your country." I use the Chrome extension Hola to access American sites abroad.

Mail: You can usually get stuff sent to whatever address you're at, though you may have to pay for packages or go through customs. Explaining my sex toys to a German customs officer was definitely a highlight of my travels. To avoid these situations, I get things mailed to my parents’ house or a friend’s apartment in the U.S. when possible and pick them up when I visit. Since DePhillips needs mail for work, she hired someone to receive her business mail and scan the things she needs.

Visas: Technically Americans can’t travel within the Schengen Area (the majority of the EU) for more than three months in a six-month period, but there are a few workarounds. I got around it by getting a freelancer visa in Germany.

At the end of the day, these were all minor issues. Being a digital nomad is far less stressful than I imagined. In a desperate attempt to hang onto what’s familiar and comfortable, our minds tend to complicate things. But what struck me over and over again each time I got off a plane, found my way into a new city, and settled down in a café to work was how simple it was.

Sure, I could’ve done without the hours spent running around Berlin trying to refill my phone data so I could finish an article. Or getting stuck outside an apartment in Berkeley at 1:00 A.M. because of a miscommunication about keys. Or working at 4:00 A.M. from a Vegas casino to accommodate a client in a different time zone. Or searching for a pharmacy to buy tampons in Stockholm on a Sunday. But the point is, I figured it all out.

There’s no feeling as liberating as the confidence that you can book a last-minute flight to a place where you know nobody and find a way to take care of yourself and your job.

Two decades after my first solo adventure, it’s finally clear what I was looking for as a five-year-old in a dragon backpack: to go places because I want to be there, not because I’ve signed a contract. To spend time with people because I enjoy their company, not because I depend on them. To be mobile, self-directed, and completely untethered.