Being A Digital Nomad Isn't For Everyone. Could You Handle It?
You're scrolling through Instagram, watching another entrepreneur work from a Bali beach cafe, and wondering if you're missing out. Maybe you've already tried the digital nomad life and found yourself exhausted, broke, or back at a desk job within six months.
About 18.1 million American workers described themselves as digital nomads in 2024, an increase of 147% since 2019. There are an estimated 165,000 British citizens working as digital nomads. Plus, 7% of the adult population want to do it. But not everyone can.
Freelance journalist Emily Bratt discovered the digital nomad truth the hard way. After chasing the sun as a digital nomad, she found herself asking "What am I doing?" The whisper started halfway through her six-month trip and became a pervasive shriek by the end.
She's not alone. The lifestyle doesn't solve your problems. If you're unorganised at home, you'll be more unorganised on the road. If you're lonely at home, you'll feel it tenfold abroad.
You don't have to romanticise or demonise the digital nomad life. It's just life. Same work, different backdrop. After building and selling my social media agency and spending years as a full-time nomad, I've learned that success comes down to systems, not settings.
Signs you could be a digital nomad: work from anywhere
If you go into nomad life expecting constant novelty and effortless freedom, you'll be disappointed. The WiFi crashes during client calls. You get food poisoning the week of a major launch. Your Airbnb cancels at the last minute. These aren't exotic travel problems. They're Tuesday.
Bratt recalls her own health struggles in Vietnam. Tonsillitis was bookended by rounds of food poisoning, all within two months. She shivered through a two-hour ferry ride, silently willing it to end.
Maybe you're the founder who thinks a change of scenery will cure your procrastination. Or you believe that working from tropical locations will somehow make spreadsheets more exciting. The truth hits hard when you're sitting in a stunning villa in Thailand, still avoiding the same tasks you dodged back home. Geography doesn't fix psychology.
The people who burn out or bounce back to the 9-5 after trying to become a nomad are usually trying to replicate holiday mode with a laptop. They book destinations based on tourist attractions rather than timezone compatibility. They switch locations every week, constantly packing and unpacking instead of building momentum. That's not a business, that's a breakdown waiting to happen.
When you're moving from place to place, misalignment shows. Bratt noticed this multiple times. Watching someone brag about passive income before catching them stressed on a 10pm video call, seeing a life coach who preached positivity scream at a waitress about an overdone steak.
You need solid processes, recurring income, timezone awareness, and a brilliant VA who keeps everything moving while you're on a flight, setting up your workspace, or hunting for decent WiFi. Set up your business to run without you before you leave. Test your systems from your home country first.
I've been a full-time digital nomad since 2021 and I love it, but that's because I'm intentional. I've built systems that remove decision fatigue, I've got a clear structure to my workday, and I always have the next location planned, even if that changes.
Every morning looks the same whether I'm in London or Cape Town. Wake up, focused work block, gym, lunch, calls, evening routine. The backdrop changes. The discipline doesn't.
Pick three cities for the year and spend two to three months in each. Book accommodation near a gym with strong WiFi. Find your coffee shop, your workspace, your routine within the first week. Stop trying to see every tourist site. You're not on vacation. You're building a business that happens to operate from interesting locations.
Digital nomad loneliness is not predictable. Bratt describes watching friends in Sydney go about their days, making plans before she arrived and after she left. "I was like a time traveller, temporarily injected into their world from another realm," she reflects. You're surrounded by travelers who disappear after three days and locals you can't fully connect with due to language barriers or temporary status.
Build community before you need it. Join location-independent entrepreneur groups. Schedule regular calls with mentors and peers. Plan your destinations around conferences or coworking spaces where you'll find your people. Create a travel schedule that friends can access so they know where to visit you. Make maintaining relationships as systematic as managing your business.
Do you have the financials in place for your digital nomad dream? Otherwise, you're not running a remote business, you're just running away from life. Calculate your actual costs including flights, accommodation, insurance, and the inevitable emergency expenses. Add 30% for reality. Know your minimum viable income before cutting ties with stability.
Maybe you need three solid clients on retainer before leaving. Or six months of expenses saved. Or a product that sells while you sleep. The specifics matter less than having them. Write down exactly how much you need to earn each month, where it comes from, and what happens if a client drops out while you're 12 time zones away. Execute that plan for three months from your home base. If it works there, it might work anywhere.
Could you be a digital nomad? Find out before taking the leap
For Bratt, the realization came at a Sydney rock pool. After chatting with locals and laughing with old friends, she understood that location wasn't the main determinant of happiness for. Instead, it was people and community, which she could find at home without a cutoff point. She signed a year-long lease in Brighton.
The digital nomad life rewards preparation, punishes romanticism, and amplifies everything you already are. If you're prepared and ready, it's the everyday of a lifetime. If you're not, you'll struggle bigtime. Build the business first. Test the systems second. Book the flight last.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Eater
2 hours ago
- Eater
It's Time to Be Romantic in North Beach
Garrett Schlichte is an award-winning columnist, writer, and chef living in San Francisco. Garrett's work has appeared online and in print in The Washington Post , The New York Times , THEM, Jezebel, Slate, and other outlets. Welcome to Fire the Menu, a column from chef and writer Garrett Schlichte about over-ordering, over-indulging, and almost overdoing it in their favorite city in the world, the place they call home, San Francisco. From pre-fixe to quick fix and everything in between, it's time to find your people, tuck in, and, well, fire the menu. I'd have thought that getting dumped by someone a little over halfway through their 20s, when I'm almost halfway through my 30s, would have been more embarrassing, but after you've willingly posted your first Instagram Reel, really, everything else feels rote in comparison. If I'm being totally honest, the only actually embarrassing part of that breakup, aside from the fact that I was still wearing my yellow kitchen clogs when it happened, is that it took getting swept off my feet by a 26-year-old for me to finally understand just how beautiful North Beach is. It's not that I'd never been to North Beach, of course. I'm not an idiot (mostly). When I first moved to the city, I made the customary pilgrimage to City Lights. I've spent several pie-eyed afternoons squirreled away in the ever-elusive second-floor booth at Vesuvio, gossiping with friends over too many martinis, making up stories about how strangers on the first floor might have met. I've eaten a slice from Golden Boy, and Tony's, and Golden Boy again. But all of those were special occasions that felt, to be totally honest, a little bit like work. Regardless of the fact that our sweet little city is famously 7x7, gorgeous, and uniquely walkable and bikeable, I have, at times, been uncharacteristically lazy when it comes to traveling so far that I'm required to carry the customary light jacket the microclimates necessitate. Until, of course, a hot guy invited me to a part of the city that required walking, a train, and a cable car. If any city transit officials are looking for ways to inspire people to use public transit more regularly, they might consider having more 6-foot-7 men in slutty little glasses invite people on dates — I have some empirical evidence pointing toward the success of this tactic. But I'm not here to save Muni (although, of course, save Muni), I'm here to talk about North Beach, and how one truly perfect date broke me out of my neighborhood vortex. It is considerably easier to get to North Beach by bus, bike, or on foot than it is to get there by cable car, but I now think riding a cable car, one of the last vestiges of an almost-but-not-quite-bygone era of San Francisco, into the heart of North Beach is one of the most perfect and romantic things you can do. I will admit that when my date and I hopped off BART at Powell and then had to walk and wait an additional 17 minutes for the cable car, I was suspicious. The bottle of wine he had tucked in his tote was helpful, but even then, I wasn't quite sure of the whole idea. Garrett Schlichte Garrett Schlichte I'd never ridden a cable car because I considered it to be nothing more than a tourist trap. What an idiot I am! When the trolley finally arrived and we boarded and sat down, I was instantly in love (with the trolley, not the man). Sure, I was a little tipsy. Yes, I was holding hands with a tall, cute man. Of course, the moon was out and full, but I'm still sure that even if none of those things were true, I would have found it magical. Riding into North Beach down Powell in the open air is a reminder that our city, which can feel wonderfully like a town at times, is very much a city. The flickering marques and neon signs and the grind of the electric motor of the trolley was a pulsing heartbeat saying I'm here, I'm back, I never left. I don't remember where we finally hopped off except that it was in the middle of an intersection, which, of course, I found particularly endearing. As we wandered away from the track, I did a few twirls on the sidewalk. Red, green, and white lights strung across the streets were stars in my eyes, and I smelled a new kind of pizza every couple of blocks. Heaven! In 1940, the columnist Herb Caen wrote that North Beach was '1,001 neon-splattered joints alive with the Italian air of garlic and the jukebox wail of American folk songs.' That night, and now, I find myself delighted by how true that description still is. The rest of the date was fine, but gilded to better-than-fine by the thick ambrosial air that wafts through every inch of North Beach. I don't remember what restaurant we ate at, which is good because the food wasn't, although that didn't stop me from loving it. Bad food can be compensated for when a restaurant's heart is in the right place, and wherever we were, it definitely was. The owner sat a few tables away from us and came over to pour us wine when our glasses got low. An extra little treat was gifted to us for dessert. Sure, the chicken was dry, but our waiter hugged us on the way out — ugh! Back out on the street, we held hands and walked past increasingly busier and louder bar fronts, and my date wondered aloud if stopping to kiss on a street corner might get us hate-crimed. I looked around. For maybe the first time in my life in San Francisco, I couldn't spot another gay person around me, aside from the one whose hand I was holding. Despite North Beach's history as San Francisco's first gayborhood, long gone were the Paper Doll, the Beige Room, Mona's, and a dozen other bars and restaurants that made it so. Petite Lil's keeps the romantic energy alive and well. Garrett Schlichte Although we didn't let the stifling heterosexuality stop us from expressing our god-given right to lock lips on a street corner (North Beach or not, it's still San Francisco, after all), I did wonder mid-make-out if the lack of a gay outpost was part of what had kept me from frequenting one of the most romantic parts of the city for so long. In the Castro and Soma, and even the Tenderloin and Bernal, you're never too far from a queer watering hole, but I wouldn't necessarily call those places inherently romantic, or at least not in the same way North Beach is. Even though my relationship with that tall man didn't last much longer after that date, it was just the beginning of my love affair with North Beach. A couple of weeks after that night, I found myself back under the neon lights for a friend's book reading, and then miraculously snatching up the last two bar seats at Tony's for a beer, pizza, and a perfect Italian chopped salad. A week later, I was back on the trolley and tucking into the window seat at Petit Lil's for a cold martini and even colder oysters. Then, it was Tosca, and a late-night burger at Sam's. Then, upstairs at Trattoria Contadina. A cannoli on the street here and there, a cigarette outside of Vesuvio. Europe in the Bay! I've been broken up with in other cities I've lived in, and I always found ways to avoid the parts of town where I spent time with that person. But when relationships have ended in San Francisco, I find myself returning to those spots again and again, regardless of the little heart pangs a street corner or a bar might elicit. Perhaps that's the magic of San Francisco — it's just too good to keep yourself from enjoying all of it. Paper covers rock, and San Francisco covers heartbreak. So, I believe it is time to go be romantic in North Beach. With yourself, with a lover, or with friends — and it doesn't matter what counter you do it at, because every spot is perfect, even if it's not exactly good. North Beach is not a neighborhood of hidden gems. No, in North Beach, all the gems are visible. It wears those 1,001 neon signs Caen was talking about like a crown, each one inviting you in and daring you not to fall in love, either with a person or with the city itself. Nights in North Beach end with Sam's. That's the rule. Garrett Schlichte Eater SF All your essential food and restaurant intel delivered to you Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Business Insider
3 hours ago
- Business Insider
I moved from San Diego to Southern Italy for a simpler, slower life, but the best part was that I fell in love
It was 2019. I was reasonably healed from a grueling divorce, and I began to think about what I wanted my life to look like when I was solo. My son, Max, would be graduating in a couple of years, and I knew I didn't want to remain in this empty nest. San Diego had never felt like a forever home. When I was married, my now ex-husband and I discussed traveling around the world when our son graduated, and staying in one place for a few months at a time. For me, though, the idea of living out of a suitcase sounded like a nightmare. Where would I like to live? I asked myself. The answer was simple: Italy. After the divorce, I'd taken my second trip to Italy, spending a challenging but cathartic week hiking the Dolomite mountains in the north and processing my emotions in a yoga retreat in Lucca. A few years later, I took a solo trip to Sardinia. Something kept pulling me back to this country, which was surprising to me because I'd always been drawn to France. I even majored in French and studied abroad there. However, whenever I visited Italy, the people were wonderfully welcoming. And because I'd studied French, picking up Italian was easy. Why not move to Italy? What have I got to lose? Cleaning my empty nest I'll admit, I had qualms about packing up and leaving my teenage son. Okay, I wouldn't actually be leaving him since he was moving thousands of miles away to Orlando, but still, not being a few hours away by plane felt neglectful. People asked me how Max felt about his mother moving so far away. I asked him myself and got a shrug. "I dunno. It's cool." I took that as his blessing. The week after I bravely hid my tears as Max embraced me and headed into his own bright future, a moving company collected my paltry 11 boxes. I gave the keys to the rental house to our landlord, hugged my friends (not bothering to hide the tears this time), and boarded a plane with two cats in tow. It was the fall of 2022. This is how life is meant to be Despite being born in the US, I'd never felt truly at home in any American city. I never bought into the whole " hustle culture" and always longed for a simpler life. Whenever I'd come back from my many trips to Europe over the years, I'd promise myself that I'd slow down and savor life, which seemed to be so easy abroad. That effort never lasted long, though, and I would inevitably fall back into feeling harried. However, in Italy, life is slower. There's always time to stop and have a coffee and chat with friends. Evenings over Aperol Spritzes seem endless in the golden summer light. My work day only begins once I've had my swim in the Ionian Sea. Whereas Americans are seemingly slaves to work, Italians prioritize life. That may mean that the office you need to visit will be closed when you go, since the owner decided to close early and have an aperitivo (pre-dinner drink) with friends. Still, I love that people work to live here, not the other way around. And you don't have to take out a loan to live well. As a freelance writer, my unsteady income goes a lot further here in the south of Italy. Rent is so much cheaper in Calabria, the region where I live. In San Diego, I paid $2,500 a month for a two-bedroom house; in Italy, I had an apartment by the sea with two bedrooms for under $500 a month. And now we live rent-free in a house my husband's family gave us. Groceries are so much cheaper and fresher. For the two of us, we can eat well for under $300 a month. It's a relief being here with these prices when I hear so much about how prices have skyrocketed back in the US. And while this slower life has been blessing enough, do you know the best thing that has happened to me? I fell in love. I met Francesco on a tour he was giving just nine months after I moved here (he's a tour guide). We got married on our two-year anniversary, surrounded by his welcoming family. My experience living in Italy has gotten even better now that I'm married and have a fantastic Italian family. With them, I've picked olives, made wine, canned tomatoes, made sausage, and learned Calabrian dialect. I'm more connected to what I eat and to the nature around me than I ever was in the US. I laugh at the fact that 10 years ago, I could never have imagined that I'd be living a fabulous life in a tiny Italian town, but my life is so much better for taking this leap. As for my son, he enjoys visiting and getting to know my husband and his family. He's even learning Italian.
Yahoo
4 hours ago
- Yahoo
Journalist Alec Luhn speaks out after dramatic rescue while hiking in Norway
Alec Luhn, a 38-year-old journalist who has worked for The Guardian, The New York Times and The Atlantic, is speaking out for the first time since his dramatic rescue in Norway. "I was grateful to be alive, grateful that I was, you know, still in one piece," Luhn told "Good Morning America" from his hospital bed. Luhn was badly injured in a fall and had to survive six days on a remote mountain. He said he was unable to move and had little food and no water while he waited for help. The Wisconsin native, who lives in the U.K., was reported missing on Aug. 4 after failing to board a scheduled flight from Bergen, Norway, to England. He had set out alone on a four-day hike on July 31 from Odda, a gateway to Folgefonna National Park, home to Norway's third-largest glacier. His wife, Emmy-winning journalist Veronika Silchenko, first alerted authorities about his disappearance. American journalist missing in Norway has been found alive On the first day of his hike, Luhn said disaster struck when his boot broke and he started plunging down an icy mountain. "[I just started] sliding down this kind of really steep slope," Luhn recalled. Luhn said he was only able to stop after slamming into a rock, a force so strong it broke his left femur, fractured his pelvis and a number of spinal vertebrae. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to move and get out of there and so I thought, 'OK, well, I got to essentially make it for at least four days on this mountain, so that people will realize that I'm missing,'" said Luhn. Luhn said the backpack he had been carrying, which contained a tent and sleeping bag, survived the fall but he lost his water bottle, most of his food and his cellphone. Unable to move and with no water, Luhn said he began to fear he might die of thirst. Desperate, he resorted to drinking his own urine. Then, on the third day, Luhn said it began to rain. "It started to rain. I really was desperate for water," Luhn said. "I remember, just like, literally licking up every drop of water I could get." But the rain soon turned into a powerful storm. Gale force winds and torrential rain hammered the mountain, sending streams down its slopes where Luhn was lying. Temperatures fell to near freezing, as Luhn became soaked, trying to shelter under a tent that he had managed to get over him. Luhn said he tried to hang on to hope that he would be rescued. "The one thing that gave me the hope and will to survive was my family -- just thinking about my wife, wanting to see her again, thinking about my parents and my brothers and sisters," Luhn said. "That's when I called on God and called on the universe to bring me back. I would do anything to be able to see my family again. And I just love them so much that, yeah, I want to make it." Days of bad weather forced rescuers to suspend search efforts. On Aug. 6, Norwegian police confirmed Luhn was found alive by a rescue helicopter team. The helicopter first passed nearby without seeing him, Luhn said, leaving him fearing he may have missed his only chance of rescue. When it returned again, Luhn had tied a red piece of cloth to a walking pole, which he began waving. "I was just yelling and waving. And finally, the door of [the helicopter] opens and somebody waves back at me and that was the moment I knew it was finally, finally over," Luhn said of the moment he was found. He was airlifted to Haukeland University Hospital in Bergen. There, he was reunited with his parents and his wife that night. "I remember my wife said, 'I'm going to tear you a new one later but for now, I really love you,'" Luhn said. Besides his broken femur and fractures in his pelvis and back, Luhn suffered severe frostbite on both feet. He remains in Bergen for treatment for now and expects to continue recovery in Britain in the coming weeks. 2-year-old boy found alive in Florida woods about 24 hours after he went missing Raised in the Midwest and a graduate of the University of Wisconsin–Madison, Luhn spent a decade in Moscow as a foreign correspondent before shifting his focus to climate change reporting. A Pulitzer Center fellow and Emmy nominee, he has worked in conflict zones and remote environments around the world, from Ukraine and Somalia to the Arctic and Alaska. Luhn is also an avid and experienced hiker, who often seeks out the wilderness both professionally and personally, according to his friends and family. He joked that his wife has banned him from hiking but he intends to hike again in the future. Luhn also expressed deep gratitude for the Norwegian rescue teams and hospital staff and stressed the importance of being safe and making good decisions while hiking, saying he should have picked up new boots beforehand and brought a satellite phone with a tracking device for his trip. "It's cool to go into the mountains and there's always cool new routes to be done. But all of that just pales in comparison to the love of your family. And that's something I felt I had lost sight of a little bit and getting a second chance to go and put my family first, that was huge for me," he said. Solve the daily Crossword
