Waves of elation did not wash over me when the plane touched down on the tarmac at New York City’s John F. Kennedy Airport on the afternoon of September 7, 2023. Less than forty-eight hours before, I’d been walking on Cape Town, South Africa’s Sea Point Promenade with new friends Chris and Jim. It was my first time on the continent. And lunching with the gay American couple one last time tempered my sadness at departing a city that captured a piece of my heart.

“Thank you for suggesting this,” I said to Chris and Jim, as we crossed the street, away from the restaurant and towards the beach. “I sometimes forget how big this is. That I’ve strolled along the coasts of different countries.”

The prospect of returning to the U.S. after my second lengthy absence filled me with anticipation. Despite looking forward to seeing my family and friends in New York, Arizona, and California, four years of living outside of the United States made it clear I no longer wanted it to be my home.

Becoming myself

I am a Black gay American digital nomad, someone who is location-independent, using technology to perform their job. Since leaving my graphic designer position at a Los Angeles-based investment bank in September 2019, I’ve crossed divides into Denmark, Finland, Germany, South Africa, Sweden, and the United Kingdom.

Being in fifteen cities, five countries, and several U.S. states has melded governmental borders into a heap separated by accents, fashions, and weather. However, armed with a country’s currency and local travel card, it’s easy to navigate cities like Berlin, Stockholm, London, and New York.

I’m becoming who I’ve always been, a revelation that’s come into focus with my nomadic
lifestyle. My first time leaving the United States was during a senior high school trip to London, England. After a 20-year lapse with no international travel, I toured Spain in September 2008 with a friend. With my first visit to Stockholm, Sweden, in August 2015, the wanderlust remained.

Stockholm is where I feel most like myself. Not because Sweden is void of racism, xenophobia, or homophobia. I’ve yet to land in a place where these ideologies aren’t in existence. As a native of Phoenix, Arizona, born to parents with lineages weaving through small towns in Oklahoma, Virginia, and New York, I’ve been described as being calm and organized. Many observe Swedes to be more conflict-averse, empathetic, structured, cold, and safety-focused than other nationalities. So it makes sense that I’m comfortable walking the streets of Stockholm.

In contrast, I never feel anonymous as a Black man. A look, a glance, or a stare remind me how I’m seen by a person, a group, or a society. But in some ways, the dismissiveness makes me invisible. Which makes it easier to listen and observe.

An expat

One of my secret passions as a teen was to be become an expatriate, someone “…who has left their country of origin in order to live in another one.” I first saw the word at fourteen, when I discovered that Black gay American writer James Baldwin lived most of his adult life as one in France. His biography opened a portal for me to see that Black Americans can move beyond the borders of the U.S.

A romantic notion

I formally became a digital nomad on the evening of October 1, 2019, when I boarded a flight to Stockholm, Sweden. Nonetheless, it was more of a romantic notion. After twenty-six years of working for the same company, I was used to financial security. This clouded my awareness that landing in a country with no professional contacts would make it difficult to find work as a visitor. Thankfully, I had a financial buffer to help with day-to-day living, as I figured things out.

In early March 2020, I had a mini meltdown. Despite the growth of my Swedish network of friends the first few months back in Stockholm, uncertainty crept back into my psyche. Overwhelming thoughts shouted in my head that leaving my life in L.A. was a mistake. This was further spurred on by a text from a family friend that said, “Only young white people do what you’re doing. And you’re neither young nor white.”

What helped douse the flames of doubt was when a Swedish friend said, “Erick, picture it. You never left your job. And sitting in that cubicle, you realize you’ve talked yourself out of going after what feels right for you. That you never tried.”

Renting small apartments through Airbnb in some of the world’s most known cities adds to my life of living abroad. I discovered Turkish Anatolian food at Kiez Vegan in Berlin, enjoyed a first date in the flat open space of London’s Clapham Common, and had my picture taken next to the Beatles Statue on Liverpool’s Waterfront. And I absorbed South Africa’s history while traveling across the waters of Table Bay to the prison on Robben Island.

Podcasting

I’ve stayed afloat, working as a freelance graphic designer. While regularly submitting my CV (résumé) for contract, remote, and full-time positions in the cities where I’d like to settle. “Unfortunately, we will not be moving forward with your application…” starts most replies I receive from potential employers. This can dampen my resolve. But thanks to my friend Jenny in Los Angeles, I’ve rediscovered my journalistic inclinations through writing and creating, hosting, and producing Our Black Gay Diaspora Podcast. It’s a global biweekly platform where I interview Black LGBTQ+ professionals who share about their countries and professions. With its growth and the guests who come on, I sense that I’ve found my purpose. I love to interview, while creating an archive of the accomplishments of Black LGBTQ+ global citizens.

Two returns to the U.S. have assured me I can find work again there. However, apart from my close family and friends, I have no deep emotional bond with America. And so, I choose to remain a digital nomad.

Through podcasting, I’ve connected with people living in countries in Africa, Europe, North America, and South America. Their willingness to reveal who they are reinforces the importance of storytelling. How it can help us believe in where we come from, who we are, and where we can go in our lives.

Re/defining home

Home is the people in my life. Those in Phoenix, Los Angeles, New York, Bedford, Otterbourne, Bath, Cape Town, and Stockholm. It’s the joy I’ve felt mapping out my route via the tunnelbana (subway), from wherever I’ve rented in Stockholm to visit friends in the areas of Södermalm, Solna, and Liljeholmen. It’s the peace I’ve breathed in on a crisp, cloudless day, walking from my accommodations in the neighborhood just north of the gay village of Kemptown in Brighton, UK. To join those traversing west to the vibrant city center.

Leaving the United States as a Black man means coming face-to-face with the fact that the institution of racism is global. It’s inescapable. Nevertheless, this reinforces my drive and determination to excel and connect with others experiencing similar traumas. I’m learning to use my experiences to galvanize me to thrive and believe in myself as a valued and productive member of society.

During my November 2023 visit to Arizona, I drove through the Glendale suburb of Phoenix, the area where I lived my last year of high school. I remembered the boy I was, using my intellect, strength, and hope as weapons to believe in a world beyond the boundaries of my mother’s dysfunctional marriage to my stepfather, the city’s general conservatism, and the racism that’s part of my country’s daily existence.

Do me a favor

On November 21, 2023, I boarded a plane for a 17-hour flight from Los Angeles International Airport to London’s Gatwick Airport via LEVEL Airlines. During my three-hour layover in Barcelona, Spain, I reflected on my last time at Josep Tarradellas Barcelona–El Prat Airport in September 2008. My dad encouraged me to take the trip a few days before he passed away on November 11, 2007.

“Do me a favor, son,” he said. “Plan a vacation to one of those countries you’ve talked about wanting to visit. Do you it for yourself. You deserve it.”

My life as a Black gay American digital nomad has released a few dormant dreams. It motivates me to believe in my aspirations, my gifts, and those around me making a difference in their work, communities, and homes. Who knew that purchasing a one-way ticket out of America would have such a profound impact?