Every post you read will say the same thing: it’s damn lonely on the road. And sure, I get it, you do need to make a conscious effort to build new relationships when you’re on the move. But honestly, I think you’re pretty well catered for wherever you go; co-livings, hostels, nomad festivals, endless apps for making friends or going on dates. In short, if you want people around, they’re there. And likewise, if you don’t want people around, there are solutions for that, too.
So what’s the real killer of living nomadically?
Routine.
The quiet collapse
The reality that rarely makes it into the glossy Instagram posts is it can take up to a month to build a proper routine, in my experience at least. If you’re moving every couple of weeks, you never give yourself the chance. You might think you’re being “free” and “spontaneous,” but really you’re laying the groundwork for burnout, your mind and body are just in fight or flight mode and the longer you go, the more apparent it will become.
For me, the diet side is always the first domino. The last few days before moving, the cupboards are empty, so you live on takeaways. Then you land somewhere new, you’re tired, you haven’t figured out the supermarket yet, and a couple more days slip by. Suddenly, a whole week’s gone and you haven’t cooked a single meal.
Sounds harmless I know but the processed food messes with your digestion, which screws with your sleep, which screws with your mood. And then, before you know it, you’re too tired to exercise, your jeans are tighter and you feel like absolute shit. It’s quite the spiral.
When you don’t nail it
Truthfully I don’t think I’ve ever “nailed” my routine while travelling, but I keep making little improvements and efficiencies wherever I can. It takes longer than I give it credit for. I used to think I could head out on a Saturday, land in a new place, unpack Sunday and have everything sorted by Monday. Not a chance sweetie. The little details; setting up a home office, finding a decent running route, working out where to get good groceries, they all take time.
My rule for my next move is I’ll give myself at least a week off work whenever I move somewhere new. Not a weekend, not three days. A full week to settle, buy what I need, and run through the trial-and-error process properly. Because trying to juggle work on top of all that just adds stress.
Why it matters for work
Routine isn’t just about physical health. For me, it bleeds directly into my work. Stress is the killer of creativity. When I’m in that zone – tired, poorly fuelled, distracted – my writing suffers. And writing is both a large part of my job and my favourite hobby.
For some people, the professional side comes first. They can skip the gym or eat crap and still smash deadlines. For me, it’s the other way around. If my physical health slips, everything else follows. That’s partly down to being on the autism spectrum, routine is absolutely critical to anything close to “normal” functioning and without it, I can’t think straight.
The “first week” checklist
Now I’ve built myself a handy little system for the first week in a new place, and it’s non-negotiable.
- The big shop: As we say in the UK. I’ve got a standard shopping list on Google Keep – spices, coffee, milk, sugar, cooking oil, bathroom bits, ingredients for a batch-cooked meal. I walk through the new place, tick off what’s already there, and buy the rest. This way I don’t end up living on Uber Eats for a week.
- Home office: The first thing I unpack is my desk setup. I strangely find it a very therapeutic process getting all my tech up and running, so it’s my top priority.
- Running routes: I always scout a local 5k loop. Whilst my training plan is super-varied, I’ll have days where I just can’t be arsed to run; knowing there’s a dead simple 5K loop on my doorstep means I’ll just whack my trainers on and head out.
- Social clubs: I don’t rush these. Usually I’ll join something in week two or three: a hiking group, a running club or whatever’s going. That way, I’ve got some built-in social structure without forcing it.
- Cafés: This takes trial and error. I look for a quiet mid-morning spot with big coffees, decent pastries and of course dog-friendly. If they don’t mind laptops, I’ll go once or twice a week to break up the workday.
I used to try co-working spaces, but I’ve gone off them. If I’ve got a solid desk at home and a good café option nearby, I’m happy. I work best in silence anyway, apart from my own Spotify playlist.
The minimum-stay rule
Through trial and error, I’ve found my sweet spot: two weeks minimum. Actually, I’m currently trialling six months after a year on the move – more on that soon.
Week one is about getting everything nailed down: shopping, workspace, routes and cafés. Week two is about actually enjoying the routine I’ve set up. Anything shorter and you’re just spinning plates. Do that for months at a time, and you’ll be cooked.
Sure, the one-week sprints look fun on TikTok. But if you’re in this lifestyle for the long haul, it’s simply not sustainable.
What Instagram hides
And this is where the social media story falls apart. You’ll see people talking about loneliness because it’s an easier villain. It doesn’t matter where you are in the world or what lifestyle you follow, humans simply cannot take responsibility for their own failings, nobody wants to admit, “I burned out because I couldn’t get my shit together.”
Instead, it’s “nomadding sucks, nobody likes me, wah wah wah.” Meanwhile, you’ve forgotten that back home you had twenty years of school, work and neighbourhood life to build your network. Did you really think you’d recreate all of that in a foreign country over one weekend using English and a sprinkle of Spanish you picked up on Duolingo?
Routine is what pulls you out of fight-or-flight mode so you can start rebuilding, without it, you’ll be running on fumes.
Burnout isn’t inevitable
It’s not all doom and gloom I promise. I’ve not personally watched anyone crash and burn, but I’ve come close myself on a few occasions and I’ve read plenty of articles spinning the same narrative: the nomad dream is a lie.
And in this humble author’s opinion: It isn’t a lie, the dream is alive and well. You’re just disorganised and thought you could sit on a beach all day flogging PDFs, without a proper plan and call it a lifestyle.
Anchors and hacks
So how do you stop the spiral? For me, there are a few anchors that are absolutely non-negotiable:
- A decent workspace. Whatever it takes – second monitor, external keyboard, ergonomic chair. Don’t skimp.
- A café or co-working option for a change of scenery. Variety matters.
- A social club. Something recurring, so you’ve got at least one thing in the diary every week.
On top of that, I live by checklists. Packing, unpacking, first-shop, Airbnb criteria, all written down in Google Keep. It might sound obsessive (probably is a little), but it gives me freedom because I don’t waste energy re-thinking the basics every time or missing something mission critical.
Freedom and routine aren’t opposites
Isn’t the whole point of this lifestyle to avoid routine? Yes and no. Routine isn’t some sort of prison, that’s the office 😉 It’s just a plan built around things you enjoy. If your routine is crap, that’s a sign you need to change what’s in it.
For me, freedom isn’t about living without structure. It’s about freedom from the psychological warfare of the modern office. I hated the politics, the clock-watching and the false sense of urgency. To me, that was modern-day slavery.
The freedom I want is the freedom to choose. My routine is built around that choice: work I enjoy, exercise that grounds me, food that doesn’t wreck me. The anchors that keep me steady while everything else changes.
So no, loneliness won’t kill your nomadic dream. Not if you’re even half-decent at talking to people. The real danger is ignoring the boring stuff: food, sleep, movement, work rhythm.
Get your routine right, and this life is better than you imagined. Get it wrong, and the dream turns into burnout faster than you can say “Bali Buddha bowl.”
