The Californian’s Dilemma
This week in The Bold Italic, we are publishing The Californian’s Dilemma, a series that goes beyond the headlines about the “California exodus,” featuring essays from San Franciscans about why they’re choosing to stay or leave. Check back daily for new essays.
Not too long ago, when life was stable and travel wasn’t surrounded by anxiety, digital nomadism — working remotely while traveling — was all the rage. Images filled Instagram of freelancers in picturesque, beachside destinations living their best lives, making those of us in an office hate scroll in jealousy. Of course, as with any seemingly anti-establishment lifestyle choice, the industry was heavily monetized, from destination coworking packages to coworking hubs in the middle of nature.
Now, as we all know, the perils and curveballs of the pandemic have upended lives and workplace culture: People are moving back home, leaving dense cities for more open spaces, swapping costly urban digs for more affordable ones. And while some saw their lives change in ways that are more grounding and bounding — Zoom school, a grueling WFH schedule — others have taken the uncertainty and run away with it, quite literally, by deciding to roam around the country and work during the pandemic rather than take up a permanent residence with monthly rent.
But with travel as we knew it out the window, a new type of digital nomadism has emerged. Instead of Bali and Europe, there’s South Dakota and Montana. Instead of plane tickets, there’s your car that you can possibly sleep in. Instead of luxury, the new pandemic digital nomads are more about pragmatism.
In June, when her roommate and leaseholder decided to give up the San Francisco apartment she lived in, Amanda Kuehn gave up on finding a new roommate during Covid-19. She considered renting a studio but then an idea struck: An alternative was possible.
“I realized I had a unique opportunity to be rent-free for a few months, as I currently work remotely, and have clearance to do so until at least July 2021,” she said.
So Kuehn put most of her stuff in storage, temporarily moved in with her boyfriend, embarking, a few weeks later, on a journey across the U.S. Taking their tech jobs on the road, the two, currently in Wyoming, had already visited Nebraska, Kansas City, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. While Kuehn’s boyfriend recently returned to San Francisco, she’s continuing the journey. Utah is next.
“We knew we’d be with my parents in Nebraska for two weeks and planned to swing through Kansas City and stay in an Airbnb so we could have socially distanced visits with friends,” she says. More family visits followed, alternating with Airbnbs.
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Working remotely during Covid-19 has eliminated the necessity of geographical locations, so things at work have been relatively smooth.
“Many of my stakeholders and co-workers are located all over the world, so I’m used to connecting on video chat and working remotely,” Kuehn says. “I do miss seeing my team members and having a designated work environment — a desk, an office. My ergonomics have been awful, and I have no home office since I don’t have a home, but the trade-offs seem worth it.”
“I don’t miss the monotony of being on lockdown in the same apartment for months with no end date in sight.”
For someone like Christian Reynoso, a chef, recipe developer, and consultant, working on the go is a little bit more challenging. But that didn’t stop him and his partner, John, from giving up their lease in SF a few weeks ago for an indefinite trip to Southern California. Currently staying with friends in Joshua Tree, the two are planning to hop around the area in the near future, possibly taking up temporary residence in Palm Springs.
“As much as I love San Francisco, it started to feel like a really expensive ghost town, and spending so much time in my small one-bedroom on Folsom next to the freeway just felt unhealthy,” Reynoso says. “Also, our landlord refused to lower our rent because they were in market denial, close friends were moving, I was working remotely and my partner was schooling remotely so being in SF was, for the first time in a long time, not necessary.”
Some aspects of Covid-inspired nomadism look sexier than others. But the pandemic reality also means that nomadism is born because it is the only pragmatic option once work has become unavailable. Alyssa Jacobs Stickel, a massage therapist from Forestville in Sonoma County, found herself unemployed when her line of work came to a full stop. Going on the road made more sense than staying put with a partner in a single-family home as cabin fever began creeping in.
“I didn’t want to sink all my unemployment money into California rent,” she says. Since May, she’s been on the road, on and off, for nine weeks, visiting Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada, Montana, and North Dakota. She’s been sleeping in her car and using apps to find public land and to track the smoke from the recent fires. She’s currently in Michigan, staying with friends.
“I’ve felt safer on the road, I saw fewer people, I skipped public restrooms,” she says, noting she’s not in a rush to go home. “The fire seasons are ridiculous, the life expenses are ridiculous if you don’t have a reason to live next to San Francisco — why stay?”
On the other side of the narrative, for San Francisco-based freelance brand designer, illustrator, and muralist Laurie Berger, the pandemic put an end to a long stretch of nomadic lifestyle. Berger and her husband were spending half of 2019, and the beginning of 2020, skipping continents and working remotely. Campervanning in New Zealand, as the news of Covid was spreading, the two reluctantly decided to return. But the San Francisco stint didn’t last long — Berger was feeling trapped again. She’s now temporarily in Los Feliz, staying with friends.
“I don’t miss the monotony of being on lockdown in the same apartment for months with no end date in sight,” she says.
Neither does Kuehn: ”I have loved being in bigger spaces with backyards and patios and ample parking,” she admits. “I appreciate paying half the price for takeout and being in the presence of love and acceptance during such a difficult time for our country and the global community.”
Reynoso also has no plans to come back soon, but when he does, he says, “I’d like to come back to a cheaper, more renaissance version of San Francisco.”
