The itch
If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably felt ‘‘the itch’’ before—that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you just can’t scratch. The kind that makes you restless, uneasy with the idea of getting too comfortable. And the only way to make it stop? You leave. You move. You find somewhere new. You give in to the curiosity and adventure because that itch won’t let you sit still for too long. This is how I would describe the last four years of my life.
Restless
Sitting still was never my strong suit—neither was patience. My most vivid memory as a kid was being taped to a chair by my teacher because I simply wouldn’t stop moving. I think that tells you everything you need to know about my childhood. I didn’t like waiting for things, for people. Yet, as an adult, I’ve learned a very specific kind of patience. I can be patient—for my plane to arrive, for the Flixbus to reach its destination, and for the check-in at my next hostel. These are things I’ll gladly wait for.
These moments—these hours spent waiting—are my resting hours. It’s in those times that I can sit down, wherever I am, and take a breath. ‘‘Stop and smell the flowers’’, as they say. I used to be shit at that. I chose a life so fast-paced that I barely had any time to stand still and realize that I was finally living the life I hoped to live years ago.
Need for speed
As I mentioned before, I’m a glutton for punishment. I love the chaos, the constant movement of everything around me. Even though my mind can’t always keep up, I can’t help but feel at my best surrounded by it. The crowds, the music, the sounds, there was never a dull moment. It was when I became a bartender that I learned this was what I was meant for.
Coming from years of sitting behind a screen playing World of Warcraft—only leaving my studio for coffee and work—I never imagined that I was made for this. When I got my first bartending job in Paris, it was like a world opened up. Behind the bar, I was something else—someone else. Suddenly, talking to people was easy, and charming my way through conversations became second nature.
Like a dance
Serving over 500 people a night became the norm, and nothing could stop me from going full throttle. There’s something euphoric about the speed—the rhythm of pouring drinks and fucking around with friends. Bartending is like dancing, weaving between the other bartenders for the bottles and glasses, keeping an eye on the line while memorizing the steps of making the drinks. You become light on your feet, lost in the moment.
For the six months I was in Paris, I was happy. Learning the basics of bartending, building up my confidence behind the bar, making friends, and exploring the city. but no matter how good the moments were, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed a change.
The grass is greener on the other side
Even though I loved my time in Paris, I was getting antsy, and anxious. I needed something different, a new adventure. I started to get good at chasing opportunities. Transferring to a brand new site of the bar I was working in sounded like the best escape I could ask for. Without hesitation, I stepped on a plane to Vienna to start my new job. More importantly, to start a new adventure. Little did I know that it was the start of my journey as a nomad.
