I grew up in New York during the era when high schoolers had green Student Metrocards and St. Marks was a grimy strip of dollar-pizza spots, underage tongue piercings, and cheap alcohol.
I loved coming of age in New York City, but when I entered my early 20s, I started itching for a change. In 2019, at 22 years old, I went on a six-month solo backpacking trip across Southeast Asia — and I fell head over heels in love with traveling.
When I returned home, all I could think was, “How can I get back out there?”
I had zero desire to get a 9-to-5 and be chained to a cubicle, but having a corporate job felt like the only “legitimate” path.
So, I started applying for jobs and landed a music-publishing internship, which I hoped to turn into a longer-term career. To pay the bills, I bartended and worked the front desk at a boxing gym.
As my days morphed into a blur of boxing gloves, Excel spreadsheets, and Jägerbombs, my traveling dreams faded — and when the COVID-19 pandemic hit around the time my internship ended, I lost all three jobs in one fell swoop.
It was a tough pill to swallow, but it gave me something I hadn’t had in months: the time to rethink my career path and decide that I wanted to be a writer.
In October 2020, I hired a freelance writing coach to turn my dreams into a reality. As she taught me how to cold pitch, I started building a personal brand online, which brought in new clients.
By 2021, at 24, I could finally afford to travel.
My boyfriend of two years had no interest in a digital-nomad life. Rather than end things, we made it work our own way: I’d leave for one to three months at a time, return to NYC for a bit, and then head somewhere new.
My enthusiasm for travel didn’t last long
At first, travel was addictive. I worked remotely while visiting a dozen countries — including Portugal, Guatemala, Brazil, Italy, and Croatia — all with my trusty MacBook and travel adapter in tow.
The first cracks appeared about a year in, during a two-month solo backpacking trip in Colombia. I’d found it difficult to make friends the way I could at 22, partially because I was no longer participating in the binge-drinking backpacking culture. (I now had to work the next day!)
While everyone would be socializing at the hostel — ice-cold Toñas in hand — I’d be in my pajamas, hiding behind the curtain of my top bunk bed.
One morning, as I climbed down the ladder to go on a run, my bare foot nearly planted into someone’s stale fries and ketchup that they’d drunkenly abandoned. I started counting down the days until I could leave Medellín.
Although I was over hostel life, I still wanted to travel. So, I then decided to switch things up and head to Bali, where I rented a villa for a few months with two other women.
As beautiful as Bali was, my experience there wasn’t a great one. The 12-hour time difference made it difficult to work; I often had to take client calls at 10 p.m. or 6 a.m.
I remember spending a lot of time by myself. Don’t get me wrong: I had wonderful conversations with strangers, where we’d spill our biggest secrets and insecurities. It was the kind of wild intimacy, though, that you only have with someone you know you’ll never see again.
I missed my family. I missed my boyfriend. That June, I decided to return to New York City for good.
Up until that point, I viewed my relationship with NYC almost as a situationship. I was never fully committed, which (probably) explains why I didn’t feel at ease there.
What would happen if I gave the city my full attention?
After replanting my roots in New York, the city feels like home again
I decided to spend that first summer back in New York saying “yes” to every invite. This led to entrepreneur meetups in Williamsburg and grabbing pho with new friends in FiDi.
Over the next few months, I fell back in love with New York City.
Because I wasn’t constantly leaving, I could actually invest in my relationships, too. In October 2025, I moved into an apartment in Brooklyn with my boyfriend.
I’ve traded eating alone in an Airbnb for coming home to my boyfriend’s cooking. I’ve swapped drunken hostel-bar chats with 20-somethings I’d never see again for heart-to-hearts with my childhood friends.
I still love to explore new places, but my days of one-way flights, hostel hopping, and bunk beds are over.
For a long time, I traveled because it made me feel alive. As much as I liked coming home to New York, it was always followed by this unsettling feeling that the life I was “meant” to be living was somewhere else.
Since pouring my time, attention, and energy into New York City, though, I couldn’t feel more differently. I have a cozy apartment, stronger friendships, and a deeper relationship.
Most of all, I have the fulfillment I’d spent so long searching for.
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