Rootless: Navigating Life as a Nomad
The jigsaw puzzle called HOME
Over the past decade, I haven't lived in the same place for more than two years. I've been like a tree that is planted, then uprooted after a year or so, only to be replanted somewhere else. This cycle repeats, over and over again. Can a tree like this ever develop a strong root system and bear fruit?
I've always dreamed of being a wanderer, living multiple lives within a single lifetime. The desire to travel the world and experience life in different countries has been with me for as long as I can remember.
When I was around 9 years old, I wrote a line in my diary that would become my mantra for years to come: “I could die without achieving many things in life, but I can’t die before I see the world.”
As soon as ICQ, the first chat room, was created, I eagerly sought out people from other countries for friendship.
“I am going to a rooftop party tonight with my friends,” my newly found online acquaintance texted me. Sitting in Dnipro, Ukraine—a country that had spent decades behind the Iron Curtain—I was in awe.
I couldn’t imagine what it might feel like to live in Toronto, Canada, and go to a rooftop party with friends. I couldn't picture it, but I wanted it so badly. All I could say was, “Wow, you’ll be able to enjoy a beautiful starry sky.”
“Not really, you can’t see the stars in the city,” he replied.
“How is that possible?” I wondered.
“The city lights are so strong, it’s impossible to see the stars,” my friend explained, probably wondering how I could be so naive.
Later, I attended a "study abroad" lecture in Dnipro, my hometown in Ukraine, to learn how to pursue an education overseas. I was born exactly two years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and new opportunities to travel and study abroad were just starting to emerge. I felt a vast gap—a huge abyss—between where I was and where I wanted to be.
Determined, I saved up money and embarked on my first bus tour, the only affordable way for Ukrainians to explore the EU at that time due to the complicated visa requirements.
I immersed myself in the history of the UK, imagining the day I would visit Buckingham Palace, all while saving for a visa to Canada. It seemed almost impossible for a teenage girl from Ukraine, given the cost of plane tickets and other expenses for such a trip. Although I didn’t know what the future held for me, my curiosity and desire for exploration kept pushing me forward.
Why did I completely lack the feeling of belonging to one place? Why did I never feel the need to settle down and grow roots in Ukraine?
I suppose the answer lies in the fact that I already had all those things—a home, a family, and a life centered around one city with occasional trips to the seaside. Yet, my spirit craved more, and I was ready to uproot myself for the chance to see the world.
Fast forward to today: here I am, a 31-year-old woman, sitting on Southbourne beach in England, sipping my latte and hearing English spoken all around me. By now, I’ve visited over 20 countries and lived in 4 of them across 8 cities. At the end of this week, I’m moving to my next home—St Albans, near London. And I have no idea how long I’ll stay there...
It looks like my main dream came true, doesn’t it? A good Hollywood movie would end right here: she fought for her dreams and fulfilled them. Keep dreaming, and it’ll be given to you. The end.
But reality isn't quite so simple. While I've achieved what I set out to do, the journey continues. More often than not, I find myself feeling lonely and rootless, drifting like a balloon in the wind.
I call England "home," but do I truly feel it? Is it really my home now? Is my true home still Ukraine? It will always be my home country, and I will always love and pray for it, but is it really my home anymore? I left it to live abroad a decade ago. So much has changed, and so have I. Apart from my family and memories, there’s nothing left for me there.
No place feels like a true home anymore. Instead, every town and country I’ve lived in or stayed in for a while holds a piece of the jigsaw puzzle called home. But no single piece can reveal the full picture.
Poland—Rzeszow, Krakow, and Warsaw—definitely hold some pieces. Until recently, I considered it my second home. It’s where I spent over five years studying, finding my first dream job, making friends, and maturing.
Then came Italy, where Gaeta’s stunning beaches, parks, harbors, and coffee shops helped heal my soul. I spent a whole month there alone, searching for answers.
Montenegro became my refuge during the first terrifying months of the war. Its warm, sunny embrace, boats bobbing on the water, and turquoise sea helped me find light in the darkest moments. Does Budva feel like home? Absolutely. How else would you describe a place where every corner is familiar, where memories linger, and bartenders recognize you by sight, serving your favorite drink without needing to ask?
And now, England—a new chapter where I’m building my life. It challenges me to be brave and to accept both my strengths and weaknesses. It pushes me to socialize despite awkward language misunderstandings and confusing accents. Its rolling hills and lush, green forests have captured my heart. Here, I’ve even learned to love the rain—a sentiment I never thought I’d have.
While I dreamed of a nomadic life, no one warned me about the heartbreaks that come with it. No one told me that every time I left a place for good and moved to the next, I would leave a piece of my heart behind. No one mentioned that a war would erupt, forcibly separating me from my roots, taking the warmth of my loved ones' hugs away for years, and making adaptation to a new place nearly impossible. But, I suppose, everything has its price.
Now, I find myself pondering: How long will it take to truly feel at home somewhere after so many years of wandering? Will my heart always be scattered across the places where I grew up, studied, loved, and lived? Can I ever piece together a home from the fragments of my past into a single, coherent picture?
It turns out that a tree needs approximately 2-3 years to establish a strong enough root system to support itself without a stake. How long will it take for a human to do the same?