The Nomadic In-Between
This has become my normal. The moving. The speed at which time flies, while at the same time feeling as though a year has gone by in only 24 hours. The adapting to cultures that are not my own, in a place that is far from my home. At times I forget that I once had a place where I slept consistently, in an era when monotonous activities didn’t feel as monotonous as they do to me now. There are endless questions swirling around in my brain as I overthink cultural norms or potential travel destinations.
Time moves differently in the nomadic in-between, the space I live in when I’m neither here nor there, when all that is known to me is the moving, like a sloth and a cheetah in the same moment. After a while, travel begins to feel like normal life, and I imagine my existence continuing on this path forever. And then just like that, both in the blink of an eye and after what feels like an eternity, I’m on a plane “home”, if I can even call it that anymore, and it’s all over.
I think back to the summer of 2024, when I was preparing to leave for 5 months of study abroad in Shanghai, China. I had no idea what my life would become 12 months later, re-entering the U.S. for the first time in over a year with completely new perspectives on the world and feeling more confused than ever about my life post-graduation. Between August 2024 to August 2025, I would travel to China, Vietnam, Indonesia, Singapore, Philippines, Thailand, Japan, South Korea, India, Oman, UAE, and Pakistan. I would obtain my Chinese driver’s license and explore ancient towns in Yunnan and Sichuan, hike up multiple active volcanoes in Indonesia, and throw paint into crowded streets during a Filipino festival. I’d soar through the water with a pod of wild dolphins in Oman, photograph protests in Pakistan during the 6th of Muharram, and hitchhike along the Karakoram highway near the Afghanistan border. I’d hang off an overcrowded train car in India, sprint through a snowstorm in Japan, and have incredible conversations with hundreds of amazing people from completely different walks of life. I would experience thousands of mini-lives… these tiny perfect moments, moments that would stay with me long after my plane’s wheels touched down in the U.S. over a year later. They would find their way into the farthest corners of my heart and mind, beckoning me to return and finish the journey around the world I’d started.
But I didn’t know any of that then.
I’m not the same person I was a year ago. Sitting in a vibrant city, I feel restless, waiting for my next opportunity to learn a new survival language or take photos of beautiful people and impactful events around the world. This is our curse as travelers and adventurers; we live each moment so excitedly and immerse ourselves so fully into new people, places, and ideas, that being back in our own culture feels foreign. People often say the cliche that they travel to “find themselves.” I can’t disagree; it’s said often for a reason. Immersing yourself in different cultures is a great way to uncover your deepest beliefs; I had no idea how strongly I felt about certain issues until I was in a culture where the topics surrounded me daily, in a very intense way. Do I wear a hijab in this place? What about a bikini? Is it socially acceptable to shake this man’s hand, or should I simply wave hello? Is this person going to help me, or is their kindness a ruse to lull me into a false sense of security before I end up kidnapped in a foreign country? Is this street food going to make me sick? What do I do when I’m stranded at 3am with an uncharged phone and no English speakers around? How do I repay unheard-of levels of kindness by local villagers? And, most importantly, who am I and what is my purpose in this complex, beautiful world?
These are questions we travelers all ask ourselves, questions some don’t dare ask for fear they won’t ever discover the answer. Perhaps I don’t want to know. Perhaps that is the wonder of a nomadic life, one of constant reinvention and an indefinite delay in settling down into a normal, consistent routine. For now, this has become my normal, the nomadic in-between.
