It was a beautiful springtime day in London.

Yup, beautiful and London in the same sentence.

It was one of those days that make you drop whatever you had planned to enjoy being outdoors.

So I did. I went for a run along the Thames, soaking in the sunshine.

I took a stroll from my hostel, past the visitors milling near the Palace of Westminster, and through the greenery of St. James Park.

But the sunset I watched that evening at Primrose Hill with Amy, a girl I met at Onefam Waterloo, brought me the clarity I needed.

As we ate our Chipotle bowls–the only Chipotle I'll have had for at least 14 months–the sun glinted beautiful shades of gold and orange on the City of London. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel rushed. I didn't feel pressured to return to the hostel, whip out my laptop, and crank some work.

I felt free.

As the day faded I told Amy,

"This is why I quit my job."

Difficult Conversations

"I really just want to watch the sunset."

That's what I told my employer when they expressed interest in renewing my 3-month software engineering contract that wrapped up in May.

That wasn't how I expected things to go a few weeks prior. The contract was part-time and had flexible hours, so I was confident I could balance it with my trip.

But work that was supposed to be the key to my freedom became a shackle. I'd been in places that people travel the world to see–Zurich, Switzerland; Edinburgh, Scotland; and Paris, France–unable to be present and appreciative of the privilege I had.

Instead, I thought about code.

I thought about the code I just wrote and the code I'd have to write the following day. I just wanted to soak in the moment but my mind was scattered.

This trip was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience and slowly, it turned into the worst of work and travel: moving from city to city just to find a new cafe, university, or hostel to write code from.

Something had to give.

Why Do I Travel?

Before starting this trip 7 months ago, I took an afternoon to outline my priorities.

1. Learn about the customs, cultures, and communities of the places I visited.
2. Learn about myself, how to handle solo budget backpacking, and how to respond to situations outside my comfort zone.
3. Write and reflect on the trip while pondering life's deepest questions and outlining a 3-5-year plan for the future.

These were my priorities because no forthcoming time in my life would easily allow me to tackle these things.

Fast-forward five months and I was working late-night at a hostel in Lisbon. Time slipped by and a group of girls, clearly drunk, had just returned from their night out. They probably didn't realize I could hear every word they said as they passed my co-working space.

"This guy is still working?"

I probably didn't want to party with them anyway. But here I was in Lisbon–maybe the only time I'd ever be here–and the choice was made for me because of my deadline.

At that moment, I realized I couldn't do both. The work would still be there when I returned to the US. But this trip would not.

Sunsets

I wasn't deprived of everything while working 20 hours per week. I still got to explore the sights, eat amazing food, and reunite with great friends. But none of those things were part of my 3 priorities.

Subtly, learning about the culture of a place eluded me. Profound conversations with people became less of a pressing need. And forget about having any chance to think about life's deepest questions.

But what I missed the most was watching the sunset. I hardly ever made time for sunsets in 3 months, just because it was a nice-to-have that was superseded by my work.

The first half of my trip gave me a newfound appreciation for the gentle emotions a sunset induces.

It shows the place I'm visiting at its most beautiful. The colors and cloud formations rain down a sense of calm on chaotic metropolises, picturesque beaches, or jaw-dropping mountains.

It reminds me to slow down. The sun's barely distinguishable movement through the sky is nature's suggestion to savor the moment, embrace tranquility, and find peace.

It demonstrates that tomorrow is a new day and a new opportunity to take back control. It's a chance to reorient myself to my priorities on a trip I'll never have again.

So, as night fell on Primrose Hill, I took solace in the fact that I was realigning the trip in the way I wanted. I've struggled to say no, step away, and prioritize myself when others count on me. But in London, I knew I made the right choice. The three weeks since have further validated it.

I'm no longer a digital nomad. I'm just a nomad.

And I'm logging off so I can go watch the sunset.