Being a Digital Nomad Made Me Realize That I Don't Actually Like to Travel

You’ve seen the pictures. The laptop open on a balcony overlooking a turquoise sea. The minimalist backpack containing an entire life. The promise of freedom, of endless discovery, of escaping the mundane. I bought into that dream completely. I sold my things, packed my bags, and set out to become a citizen of the world.

And now, after months on the road, I have a confession to make: I don’t think I actually like to travel.

At least, not like this. What I’ve discovered is that there’s a massive gap between the idea of travel and the day-to-day reality of it. And in that gap, I was losing my productivity, my money, and myself. This isn’t a story of failure; it’s a story of discovering what truly matters, even if it goes against the popular narrative.

My Joy Comes from Doing, Not Just Seeing

For a long time, I felt like there was something wrong with me. I stood in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, a landmark that moves millions, and I felt… nothing. It was cool, I guess. An impressive piece of architecture. But it didn’t “wow” me.

I now realize why. My fulfillment doesn’t come from passive, observational experiences. It comes from active, participatory ones. The joy for me isn’t in seeing the mountain, it’s in the physical strain and mental focus of riding my bike down its trails. It’s not in admiring a beautiful cafe, but in the deep, productive flow state I can achieve at a proper desk. It’s not in a fleeting conversation with another traveler, but in the steady, comfortable presence of a pet or a close friend who truly knows me.

The digital nomad lifestyle prioritizes a constant stream of new sights. But I’ve learned I prefer a life of deep engagement over broad observation. And there’s nothing tasteless or wrong about that.

The Anxiety of Forced Minimalism

Part of the nomad gospel is minimalism. The idea is to shed your worldly possessions and find freedom in having less. I sold my powerful desktop computer, got rid of my clothes, and tried to fit my life into a single suitcase. The reality? It didn’t feel freeing; it felt deeply unsettling.

Instead of feeling liberated, I felt like a homeless person. Living with only two pairs of shoes and a handful of outfits created a constant, low-grade anxiety about being unprepared or looking out of place. I missed the simple comfort of choosing an outfit I loved, not just the one that was clean. Working for hours on a small laptop screen was a frustrating compromise on my productivity and comfort. True freedom, I’ve learned, isn’t about having nothing. It’s about having exactly what you need to feel stable, comfortable, and fully yourself.

The Hidden Tax of Constant Motion

Let’s talk about the logistics. The part that doesn’t make it to the Instagram feed. The constant, low-grade stress of visa deadlines. The feeling of being officially labeled an “alien” in a new country, a subtle but constant reminder that you don’t belong.

Then there’s the financial drain. I feel like I’m a perpetual customer in a system designed to extract as much money from me as possible. Airports selling bottled water for five times the normal price. Airline companies with labyrinthine rules that make it nearly impossible to get a refund when plans inevitably change. I’ve lost count of the money I’ve forfeited on pre-booked accommodations and flights. It’s a constant feeling of being a “sucker” in a game I never seem to win.

This endless churn of planning, packing, and paying isn’t a thrilling adventure. It’s a draining, full-time job that you don’t get paid for. And it leaves precious little energy to actually appreciate the places you’re visiting.

You Can’t Appreciate a Culture That Holds You at Arm’s Length

The great promise of travel is cultural immersion. But how can you immerse yourself when you’re fundamentally an outsider? When you’re always on a clock, counting down the 90 days on your tourist visa?

Real connection—the kind that leads to high-quality friendships and a genuine understanding of a place—requires time, stability, and consistency. It’s built through shared routines, joining local groups, and being a part of a community. The hyper-mobile lifestyle actively works against this. You’re always just passing through, and deep down, everyone knows it. This isn’t an exchange; it’s a transaction.

My “Great Life” Is Waiting for Me at Home

I gave up my hobbies, my pet, my financial stability, and my peace of mind to chase something I was told was the ultimate dream. But I’ve learned that a life built around things I don’t value is just a beautiful-looking cage.

I recently allowed myself to imagine what a truly great life would look like. It wasn’t on a beach in Thailand. It was an average Tuesday. Waking up and cuddling with my cat. Doing deep, productive work on a full-sized computer. Going for a bike ride in the afternoon. Playing video games in the evening.

It sounded simple. It sounded “boring” by nomad standards. And it sounded like absolute heaven to me.

I’m not “quitting.” I’m elevating. I’m choosing to build a life based on my own discovered values, not the ones I was sold. For me, the ultimate freedom isn’t the ability to go anywhere, but the wisdom to know where you belong—and the courage to build your home there.