The Rain Lets me Know I'm Alive: Reflections on Digital Nomad Life in Northern Germany

You can feel it pelt your face—a reminder that life surrounds you. It’s easy to forget that when you live in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I love sunshine—though if you really knew me, you’d know I love the warmth, preferably from the shade. But sometimes you need a different weather pattern to appreciate the sun.

Walking around northern Germany last week in a light rain was exactly that—a reminder. I’ve been flying high this past year, living a life I never imagined. I say it often and I’ll say it again: I am not taking it for granted. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t started to feel a little…normal.

I can’t believe it’s already August. I’ve truly been traveling for a year now, with only about five and a half weeks spent back in Colorado during that time. Even though it’s just 5,130 miles away, Colorado feels like another world.

The last few weeks have brought me face-to-face with life’s deeper desires. Living on ships has been fun, but I can already see the horizon of that chapter. I am beginning to crave a sense of place again. Not a 9–5 office job—I don’t think I could go back to that—but a life that blends flexibility with rootedness.

Laura, back in Colorado, recently sent me an article about the challenges of being a digital nomad (read it here). She asked how I could relate. And she was right—social media often shows only the highlights. But behind the sunsets, cocktails, and epic backdrops, there are challenges.

I’ve mentioned some of the challenges before, but maybe not enough: fleeting friendships, lack of a traditional routine (although I have successfully learned how to maintain some healthy routines through much trial and error), and the strange absence of ordinary tasks, to name a few. Sure, I don’t have to cook or clean. That’s a perk. But after nearly a year, I’ve realized there’s a quiet joy in those simple things. Wandering through a grocery store, making a meal with friends, watching RuPaul’s Drag Race together and debating the lip sync outcomes—these moments ground me.

Small-town life in Germany also surprised me. Ribnitz, with just 15,000 people, is incredibly walkable. No car needed, with trains connecting you to most places. (Reaching the beach is another story, but taxis and Ubers or friends with cars help.) Compared to small-town life in the U.S., it feels freer, more connected.

And Sundays here? Almost everything is closed—grocery stores, banks, shops. At first, I thought it must be frustrating for people who work all week. But now, I see the beauty: a collective pause, a cultural permission to rest. It’s something I think many of us could use more of.

Looking ahead, I’ll be spending a few weeks in South Florida before my next big adventure: a return to Australia and my first visit to New Zealand.

It also feels like time to get serious about writing again. My second book is long overdue, and book #3 is already starting to form in my mind. This one will go deeper—the good, the bad, and the messy truths of solo travel, cruise ship life, and the mental gymnastics of always being in motion.

I’d love your input: what questions do you have about this lifestyle? What would you want answered in book three?

As I pack up and leave Ribnitz, it’s not goodbye—it’s see you later. I’ve come to adore this little town, its people, its architecture, and the lessons it’s gifted me.

Onwards, into the sun.

—Cole

Want the full story?

Many of the reflections I share in my blog come from a year of solo travel across all seven continents. In my book, Filling My Bucket: A Year of Solo Travel Across Seven Continents, I go deeper into the moments that shaped me—the freedom, the loneliness, and the lessons that only come from being constantly in motion.

Explore Filling My Bucket at Books by Cole

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