Escape from Freedom/Christmas on Corfu

Reflections on a year without a permanent address

This year has been one of constant movement. I started the year in Belgrade, moved to Albania, then to Turkey, then to Georgia, then to Greece, then to Vietnam, and then back to Turkey. I am currently writing this from a 400-year-old house in Corfu Town. There were also multiple shorter trips to London, as well as jaunts to Spain, Kosovo, Serbia, Macedonia, Armenia, and finally, just a few weeks ago, Florida. I have mostly enjoyed it. But then, just a few days ago, I realized that I didn’t want to be anywhere at all. It’s a bit difficult to explain this condition to those who haven’t lived it, but I’ll try: Most people just live in a place. Even if they’re constantly on business trips, they have a home somewhere. They might love it, or feel neutral about it, or be actively plotting to leave it. But they live in a place, and whether they like it or not, they have a life and routine there: work, family, a house, school, friends, a library card, pets, a hairdresser, a doctor, a closet full of clothes for all four seasons, a regular gym membership. When you live without a permanent address, you don’t have those kinds of things. Or at least, you don’t have them in the same way. You always need to find new places to go, because you’re constantly butting up against the maximum number of days you’re allowed in a place as a foreigner. That, coupled with general travel fatigue, is partly how I fell into this state of restless indecision this past week, like a compass spinning and spinning without stopping. I looked at a map of the world and nowhere sounded good. I entertained a few options: London was too expensive, too gray, and its social life was too alcohol dependent. Hanoi was too polluted this time of year: the city’s air quality index (AQI) had been soaring into the Very Unhealthy range of 200+ in recent weeks. The Western Balkans were out of the question – I was done with them. In the dead of winter, Berlin sounded like a miserable choice. Meanwhile, the days I was still allowed to be in Turkey (US citizens are permitted to stay in the country for 90 out of 180 days) were dwindling. I was down to about two weeks. Anxiety was setting in. But even if I had more time in Istanbul, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay. I had reached a saturation point with Turkey and was even starting to dislike it. But as the holder of a US passport – which I recognize is a tremendous privilege – much of the rest of the world was open to me. I could have flown a lot of places. But I was no longer grateful for my freedom. I didn’t want the entire world.