I suck at fitting into molds. It’s never been my strong point. So when I decided to become a “digital nomad” this year, I cheerfully went about it all wrong. I jetted off to study Japanese on Okinawa in a dorm with no wifi, and now I’m living with family on a tiny island with Internet that cuts out every 15-20 minutes. Not exactly conducive to becoming the next big Internet mogul. My next step won’t be much better in that respect, even though I’ll finally have easy access to stable internet.
What I am doing right, though, is following my heart. When I saw the above where someone had graffiti’d the stop sign with a heart, it resonated with me, and I realized it represented my journey. Don’t you love it when graffiti appears to have been perpetrated by an 11-year-old girl? I know I do.
Anyway, I realized that with respect to my journeying, I stop in the name of love, and not much else. I went to Japan because I was following my passion, despite many many people telling me it was a stupid, wasteful idea. I traveled during my summer vacation to places I’d always wanted to go, and met amazing people, and then traveled to meet my Dad and have more adventures with him.
And here I am now in the Azores in a house bursting at the seams with almost a dozen people chattering away to me and each other in Portuguese. I can’t get any work done to save my life, but I feel ridiculously happy.
That’s worth more than any amount of money ever will be.
To hell with trying to fit the digital nomad mold. I’m going to be a nomadic Sam, the Mindful Polyglot, travelling heartfully and experiencing the world, and the rest will figure itself out.
What I am doing right, though, is following my heart. When I saw the above where someone had graffiti’d the stop sign with a heart, it resonated with me, and I realized it represented my journey. Don’t you love it when graffiti appears to have been perpetrated by an 11-year-old girl? I know I do.
Anyway, I realized that with respect to my journeying, I stop in the name of love, and not much else. I went to Japan because I was following my passion, despite many many people telling me it was a stupid, wasteful idea. I traveled during my summer vacation to places I’d always wanted to go, and met amazing people, and then traveled to meet my Dad and have more adventures with him.
And here I am now in the Azores in a house bursting at the seams with almost a dozen people chattering away to me and each other in Portuguese. I can’t get any work done to save my life, but I feel ridiculously happy.
That’s worth more than any amount of money ever will be.
To hell with trying to fit the digital nomad mold. I’m going to be a nomadic Sam, the Mindful Polyglot, travelling heartfully and experiencing the world, and the rest will figure itself out.
Terceira, Terceira!
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When I arrived in Terceira, I slept for 16 hours straight. Given that I had only slept 23 hours in the previous 7 days, I desperately needed it, and felt much better afterward. My adoptive Portuguese mom woke me up after 8 hours to try to get me to eat something, but I merely nodded muzzily for exactly the amount of time she was directly in front of me; the moment she stepped away I fell instantly asleep again.
I slept on and off for almost the entire past week. I’m finally feeling more energetic, but this has easily been the worst jet lag of my life. I’m super excited to talk about the six-day journey I took to get here now that it's over, but I have no intention of repeating it any time soon.
I slept on and off for almost the entire past week. I’m finally feeling more energetic, but this has easily been the worst jet lag of my life. I’m super excited to talk about the six-day journey I took to get here now that it's over, but I have no intention of repeating it any time soon.
Where Is The Last Place You Want To Get Sick?
I didn’t have the best experience with the Portuguese health care system this week. It’s not their fault, though; I imagine throwing up in hospital bathrooms is not high on anyone’s list of “fun.” Then again, being acutely ill while in a hospital but not having any health insurance is an absolutely miserable experience.
I was accompanying mom for her visit to the clinic inside the hospital, but I was way sicker than she was. Everyone wanted to help me (they work in health care, for God’s sake), but I had to keep lying and saying I was fine, because I absolutely did not want them to take care of me.
Well, I would have been happy to be taken care of, but I have no money, and no insurance, and I knew it would cost a gajillion dollars to get admitted to the hospital for what I already knew was a minor, passing issue. Meanwhile I am sitting there, white as a sheet, trying not to throw up on mom’s Ear-Nose-Throat doctor or the audiologist. Whoops.
I was accompanying mom for her visit to the clinic inside the hospital, but I was way sicker than she was. Everyone wanted to help me (they work in health care, for God’s sake), but I had to keep lying and saying I was fine, because I absolutely did not want them to take care of me.
Well, I would have been happy to be taken care of, but I have no money, and no insurance, and I knew it would cost a gajillion dollars to get admitted to the hospital for what I already knew was a minor, passing issue. Meanwhile I am sitting there, white as a sheet, trying not to throw up on mom’s Ear-Nose-Throat doctor or the audiologist. Whoops.
My Peeps In Terceira
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When not sleeping, admiring the scenery or throwing up in hospital bathrooms, I spent most of this week socializing. The house is currently chock full of family, and dinners are a lively and obstreperous affair, given the Portuguese love of argument. More than a dozen people crowding around the dinner table most nights, competing via sheer volume to be heard over the rest of the joyous din.
We talk about everything and nothing, and I’m doing pretty well keeping up with the Portuguese. I am learning faster than I ever thought possible, mostly through sheer bloody-minded necessity. The learning curve reminds me of nursing school: I feel like I am trying to drink water from a fire hose set to full blast. It’s my favorite kind of challenge, though, so I don’t mind.
We talk about everything and nothing, and I’m doing pretty well keeping up with the Portuguese. I am learning faster than I ever thought possible, mostly through sheer bloody-minded necessity. The learning curve reminds me of nursing school: I feel like I am trying to drink water from a fire hose set to full blast. It’s my favorite kind of challenge, though, so I don’t mind.
Case Study Of American Culture Export
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I had never heard of “Violetta” before arriving here in Portugal. For those of you in the dark like I was, Violetta is a wildly popular Disney channel icon, apparently adored by girls around the world. My cousin turned 6 years old this week, and her parents threw her a Princess- and Violetta-themed birthday party. At least half of the decorations at the party were in English (“Happy Birthday, Princess!”), even though only 2 or 3 of the 30 of the people present have any significant command of the English language.
21st century birthday party picture: you set up the laptop so four small girls can squeal excitedly at Violetta episodes, music videos and the like from the Disney channel. After engaging their technology fix, you take the little girls out back and let them help you feed the piglets, who squeal excitedly for much baser reasons.
I love you, Terceira.
21st century birthday party picture: you set up the laptop so four small girls can squeal excitedly at Violetta episodes, music videos and the like from the Disney channel. After engaging their technology fix, you take the little girls out back and let them help you feed the piglets, who squeal excitedly for much baser reasons.
I love you, Terceira.
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