You Never Know You’re in a Golden Age Until After It’s Over

It sucks that the good times always end. But that’s also what makes them special.

For the audio version of this article, read by the author, go here.

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My first two and a half years of nomading were among the best of my life.

Michael and I left Seattle to live as nomads at the end of 2017, and before we knew it, we had a big circle of nomad-friends, a mix of American and European expats. We met Mike and Miek in Miami; Gillian in Italy; Tyler, Marianne, and Casey in Bulgaria; Randi and Peter in Thailand; and Kris in Croatia.

Soon we were traveling with these folks, holing up for months at a time in countries all over the world. The three months I spent with Gillian and Casey in Tbilisi, Georgia, were utterly magical — rivaled only by the six months I spent with Mike, Miek, Randi, and Peter in Thailand and Vietnam, and the three months I spent with Gillian, Tyler, and Kris in Mexico City.

With Gillian (top) and Marianne (right).

Life was incredibly exciting, exploring new cultures by day with smart, funny friends, and meeting almost every evening for dinner at some fabulous new restaurant, talking and laughing deep into the night.

Michael and I used to marvel at how different our lives were from our old life back in Seattle — costing so much less money, for one thing. But it was also the fact that our nomad-friends were always all in. Back in Seattle, getting people together for anything was like pulling teeth, with intricate planning and schedule juggling done months in advance. After a while, I got really resentful of being almost the only one to ever suggest new things.

But when I think back on my first few nomad years, I have no memory of a nomad friend ever turning down some new adventure.

And it wasn’t just me coming up with ideas. There’s a concert tonight in that ancient Italian castle? We are so going! And what about dinner at that Tbilisi restaurant called Grandma’s Kitchen, which is supposedly some grandma’s actual kitchen? Oh, and here in Mexico City, Tyler just heard about this new street food stand that supposedly sells the world’s best tamales.

And — hey! — why don’t we hire a driver for only $300 to take us on a three-day tour of abandoned monasteries in Armenia? I also hear that the neighboring town of Velingrad, Bulgaria, is known for its fabulous hot springs, so how about we all hop on the train for an overnight visit? Or now that we’re all living in bamboo bungalows on this Thailand island, we must visit the “mushroom bar” down the beach that supposedly sells hallucinogenic shakes. I hear that after midnight, there are orgies in the surf!

Road trip! With Gillian and Casey in Armenia.

In a way, I was far outside my comfort zone, but I’d never felt so comfortable. It felt like I was finally living, and it was the life I’d been born to live.

Then Covid hit, and everything stopped.

Two years later, when the world returned to “normal,” everything was different. I continue to be tight with all our first nomad friends, and whenever we meet for dinner, we still usually try some fabulous new restaurant, and we still talk and laugh deep into the night.

But we don’t travel together anymore, and we don’t meet that often either. Everyone has moved on. Some of these folks have returned to more conventional lives — understandably, since most of these folks were in their twenties and thirties, and they’re now looking to establish careers or even families. Meanwhile, several couples have broken up.