This is going to read like an epic ‘first-world problem rant’ because, well, because it’s an epic first-world problem rant.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Actually, to even call this a ‘first-world problem’ is kinda insulting since it’s really a difficulty encountered by only a very few people who are either (i) very rich or (ii) have engineered a situation where they’re ‘location independent’ or (iii) both.
I myself fall into category (ii). No, I am not very rich. I am not Andrew Tate. I do not have three lambos and I do not enjoy luxury travel all over the world at the drop of a hat.
However, because I have spent the last five years building up a business off the back of this blog, and I have been fully self-employed for over eighteen months, I am location-independent.
As it happens, I’m typing this article from a nice apartment in London. But I could just as easily be in Mumbai, or Dresden, or Lviv, or Chiang Mai, or anywhere else on the planet.
And herein lies the problem: when you have practically infinite options how do you choose just one?
The Digital Nomad Playboy
Day after day, just recently, I’ve been sitting here in London trying to figure out where I actually want to be. The most obvious destination for me in of course Berlin, where I have a property, and where the ‘degeneracy’ of the night scene suits me down to a ‘T’.
But there are other options. I have a Russian visa for 12 months, as yet unused. I have friends in Kiev, and I’ve been considering the possibility of staying there for a while to enjoy the low prices and beautiful women.
And I’m keen to tour the Balkans at some point.
But then a kind of ennui – a lethargy – descends, ensuring that I make no concrete decision at all.
And the days go by, turning into weeks, turning into months.
And without direction, the whole project of my life – which includes my business, since I am primarily a writer who makes a living from recounting his experiences – is jeopardised.
Of course, there are other attendant reasons for this indecision, not least a love interest in the wings in London.
Affection and comfort are a drug, and a very powerful one at that.
But if I don’t travel, if I don’t take advantage of the frankly extraordinary advantages that I have created for myself, then what am I doing? Falling back into habit and familiarity in London, a city that I love (and which I will always regard as home) but which, to be frank, bores the fuck out of me at times.
I sense that I am on the precipice of a big decision.
Nature abhors a vacuum, after all, and my life has been a vacuum for the last few months.
This can’t go on. For the sake of my mental health, not to mention my content, I need to shake things up.
Perhaps the best decision to make in these circumstances is an arbitrary one. I could simply book a plane ticket to somewhere random, and see what happens. Maybe that is the solution. I don’t know.
But June is coming very soon, and at that point half of the year will have elapsed. And inertia over a long period is not a good look.
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