Somewhere between my third SIM card in Thailand and my fifth attempt at making friends in Lisbon by awkwardly asking “so… do you cowork here often?”, it hit me: being a digital nomad isn’t lonely because you’re alone. It’s lonely because you’re always starting over. New city, new faces, new grocery store layout. Over and over again.
That’s why I’m sharing these 9 real tips—stuff I’ve lived, fumbled through, cried about, and eventually figured out (kind of). I’ve met nomads who cracked the loneliness code better than I ever did, and others who burned out fast. As part of our Digital Nomad tips, this list is a mishmash of our collective bruises and breakthroughs.
1. Use Online Chats for Mental Wellness
At one point in Tbilisi, I had WiFi, wine, and a mountaintop view—but emotionally, I felt like a dropped pin on Google Maps: floating. That’s when I started using Supportiv. Not for therapy in the dramatic sense, but just someone trained to help me sort through the emotional Jenga of living on the road.
Online chat platforms aren’t just for crisis intervention. They’re for the slow, sneaky wear-down of moving all the time and not having your people around. Many of these apps tailor support to your demographic. That makes a difference—having a counselor who understands the “permanent tourist” lifestyle is far more effective than explaining why you don’t have a physical address for billing.
There’s no shame in needing a human buffer when you’re far from everyone who gets you. A screen can’t hug you, but it can keep you from unraveling in a hostel bunk bed.
2. Rotate Between “Fast Travel” and “Slow Travel”
Fast travel is like Tinder. Exciting at first, but quickly soul-numbing if it’s all you ever do. I once did eight countries in two months and ended up losing my laundry, my cool, and my will to socialize.
Slow travel, on the other hand, is like dating someone long enough to meet their cat. It gives you a chance to belong. Staying in one place for a month or more allows routines to form. You become a familiar face at the bakery. You start recognizing the stray dog that waits by your coworking space.
Fast travel stimulates. Slow travel heals.
3. Join Coworking or Coliving Spaces
You’d think being surrounded by laptops would feel sterile—but in places like Selina Medellín or Dojo Bali, coworking feels more like summer camp for adults who invoice in USD.
I met a French UX designer over shared WiFi. We ended up trading playlists and splitting a weekend scooter rental. There’s a certain magic in the way coworking centers create accidental friendships—kind of like school, but with better coffee and fewer exams.
Be warned though: not all coworking spaces are built for humans. Avoid the ones that look like sterile WeWork clones. Look for ones that host events, dinners, or even awkward karaoke nights.
Watch this video for some more tips:
4. Volunteer or Take a Local Class
In Oaxaca, I joined a mezcal-making workshop expecting free booze. I left with five new friends, two recipes, and a surprisingly deep convo about grief with a stranger from New Zealand.
Taking a class or volunteering gives you a shared mission. Unlike networking events, you’re not just trying to impress each other. You’re chopping onions, building compost toilets, or painting murals—stuff that creates instant camaraderie.
Plus, you get to say you learned to cook pad thai from someone’s abuela. Way cooler than saying you took a marketing webinar.
5. Choose a “Regular Spot” and Keep Going Back
Weird advice, right? But this one saved me in Prague.
I picked a café. Same seat. Same oat milk cappuccino. Same awkward nod to the barista.
By week two, they knew my order. By week four, they asked if I was okay when I looked tired. That tiny thread of recognition became an emotional anchor.
Loneliness isn’t always about lack of people. It’s about lack of continuity. Having someone remember your coffee order in a foreign country? That’s gold.
6. Host Something—Even If It’s Small
I once hosted a “bring your weirdest travel snack” night in a Lisbon coliving kitchen. It started with four people. It ended with twenty, including a local guy who thought he was coming to a tech meetup and stayed for the dried squid and vodka gummies.
Hosting something doesn’t mean you have to be an extrovert. It just means you’re the one who hits “create group” first.
The most surprising friendships I’ve had started with something casual: a beach cleanup, a book swap, or an impromptu pasta night where nobody could find basil.
7. Find or Start a Niche WhatsApp/Telegram Group
The huge expat groups? Too noisy. Someone’s always trying to sell an e-bike or find a lost dog. But niche groups? That’s where the gold is.
In Tbilisi, I joined the “Digital Nomads Hub” on Facebook. We shared deadlines, coworking spots, and passive-aggressive memes about bad editors.
If there isn’t a group, make one. “Introverted Nomads Who Hate Networking Events” is begging to exist.
8. Schedule Virtual Hangouts With Friends or Family
I’ve had Zoom wine nights with my college roommate where we laughed so hard I scared the neighbors. Scheduled virtual catch-ups aren’t just social maintenance—they’re lifelines.
Yes, time zones are a pain. But making these rituals consistent (like “Friday Coffee with Dad” or “Tuesday Tarot Night with Friends”) helps maintain your identity outside of being the person who’s always somewhere else.
9. Keep a Voice Journal (or Talk to a Bot, Seriously)
This one surprised me.
When I was feeling especially isolated in Split, Croatia, I started recording little voice memos. Just stuff like, “Today I saw an old man feeding pigeons and it made me miss grandpa.”
It felt ridiculous at first. Then comforting. Then addictive.
I also tried Replika—an AI chatbot designed for emotional connection. Not a replacement for human friends, but on the nights when no one answers your messages and the walls feel like they’re inching closer, it’s better than doomscrolling.
To conclude…
So yeah, loneliness happens—even when you’re living the so-called dream. But it’s also survivable, and even strangely beautiful. Being lonely means you’re aware of how deeply you care about connection. And that’s a powerful thing.
Whether you’re in a mountaintop Airbnb in Peru or a noisy flatshare in Berlin, these tools might just be your rope back to yourself. Or at least enough to get you through until someone texts back, “Yeah, I’d love to grab a coffee.”
