You are only free when you realize you belong in no place, you belong in every place, no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.

(Maya Angelou)

There are a very special kind of people who can pack a suitcase in under ten minutes. They know airport terminals better than their hometown supermarket. They carry a passport with stamps from five continents, but pause when someone asks: "So, where are you from?"

This is the citizen of the world.

But underneath the surface, many global souls carry a subtle ache. A sense of rootlessness. A silent question: Is this freedom making me whole, or fragmenting me?

Let's dive into that paradox, because the answer isn't simple. But maybe that's where its magic lies.

What happens when you are always leaving?

To move across countries, languages, and customs is to reshape yourself constantly. You become flexible, observant, and open to difference. You learn to order coffee in six languages. You know how to read a room, even if you don't speak the language.

Psychologist Mary Catherine Bateson, daughter of anthropologist Margaret Mead, coined the term "composing a life." That's what many global citizens do: piece together meaning and identity from fragments of multiple cultures.

Psychologists have noted that exposure to multiple cultures develops1:

  • Cognitive flexibility (the ability to adapt and shift perspectives).

  • Empathy and emotional intelligence.

  • Creativity from cross-cultural pattern recognition.

A 2018 study2 published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that people who had lived abroad for extended periods had greater self-concept clarity, meaning they were more in tune with their own identities.

And as Pico Iyer reminds us: "Travel is not really about leaving our homes, but leaving our habits."

The emotional cost of constant motion

Let's pause here.

Global living is often portrayed as a dream on Instagram—sunsets in Thailand, espresso in Rome, and coworking in Bali.

But it can also be lonely. Even dizzying.

  • Where do you send your mail?

  • Whose wedding do you miss, again?

  • How do you build roots when you're always boarding the next flight?

There's a psychological concept called "cultural bereavement3", originally studied in refugees, but now applied to expats and third-culture kids too. It refers to the grief of losing familiarity with things like food, sounds, touch, and even one's sense of identity.

Common struggles global citizens face

  • Relationships that stay shallow because everyone's always "just passing through".

  • Visa anxiety, time-zone fatigue, endless goodbyes.

  • A fragmented sense of self—who are you in English? In Spanish? In silence?

  • Feeling like you're performing different versions of yourself in different countries.

"I can speak four languages," said Mateo, a Colombian-German UX designer. "But sometimes I forget how to speak to myself."

Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman spoke of "liquid modernity4"—a world where everything is flexible, adaptable, even disposable. In such a world, identities become portable too.

Being a global citizen can feel liberating, but also unstable. You're untethered, yes. But sometimes you're also unanchored.

Pico Iyer said: "We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves."

So which is it?

Do global citizens lose a sense of self or create a more fluid and inclusive one? Maybe both. Maybe the "citizen of the world" lives in that liminal space, not fully this, not fully that, but something else entirely. Something new. Something is evolving.

Psychologist Dr. Ruth Van Reken, co-author of Third Culture Kids, explains that repeated cycles of loss and transition often go unacknowledged, leading to "hidden losses5."

Rootless or free? Navigating the middle space

It's easy to frame global living as either utopia or tragedy. But the truth lives in between. What if global citizenship is not about choosing between freedom and fragmentation? What if the very tension between the two makes us more human?

Just as a tree adapts to different climates, global citizens learn to root themselves within, not around.

"Maybe it's not about having a home," says Juan, an NGO worker in Southeast Asia. "Maybe it's about being home. For yourself. For others."

How to ground yourself as a citizen of everywhere

You don't need a fixed postal code to feel at home. But you might need rituals. When identity stretches across borders, it's the small, repeated acts that keep you sane:

  • Drinking the same tea every morning, no matter the country.

  • Journaling in the same notebook, from Tokyo to Lisbon.

  • Meditating, sketching, or walking the same 20 minutes every sunset.

  • Carrying photos, playlists, spices, or fabrics that remind you of "you".

  • Observe a weekly digital detox.

  • Celebrate small cultural traditions that feel like "you".

Technology helps. There are WhatsApp groups where like-minded people share advice and jokes. Digital communities, such as Nomad List or Third Culture Kids Network, offer support. Online therapy has become more accessible for those dealing with identity fatigue or emotional dislocation.

You're not the only one building a life in the in-between.

"After 10 years abroad, I stopped trying to fit into places," wrote Rachel Cargle, author and activist. "I started fitting into myself."

Rethinking what it means to belong

There's a growing movement to redefine "home." Author Jhumpa Lahiri, who writes about the immigrant experience, once said: "The idea of the exile is not only the idea of people who leave, but also of those who feel exiled at home."

In other words, home isn't just where you were born, or even where you live now. It's where you feel recognized, safe, and fully yourself.

What if we reframed the question from "Where do I belong?" to: "How do I belong to myself, no matter where I go?"

Could the global citizen journey not be one of fragmentation, but of expansion? Instead of thinning our roots, we are learning to root inwardly, anchored in values, not GPS coordinates.

If you identify as a global soul or aspire to become one, take a moment to ask:

  • What parts of myself have I discovered by leaving home?

  • When do I feel most "me," no matter the location?

  • What does home feel like, beyond a place?

  • How can I maintain an emotional connection while being physically mobile?

  • Where do I feel most alive?

  • What rhythms make me feel safe, even in strange places?

  • Who knows the real me, no matter where I go?

  • What does belonging mean to me right now?

These questions don't need quick answers. They're companions for the road.

Nowhere and everywhere: the paradox

Maybe this is what being a citizen of the world means:

To live in the paradox.

To feel the ache of absence and the joy of presence at once.

To know that borders are real, but so is love that transcends them.

To lose your footing and build your ground.

You don't have to choose between freedom and connection.

Between movement and meaning.

Between being everywhere and being whole.

You can carry it home inside you.

You can be a mosaic stitched from many cultures, yet uniquely yours.

You can belong to this world, even if no country claims you fully.

Because here's a secret:

Belonging is about where you're honest.

(Brené Brown)

Don't just be a citizen of the world. Be a student of it. A protector. A gentle witness.

So, the next time you feel torn between places, ask not "Where do I go?" but "What part of me am I bringing forward?" That is the most beautiful journey of all.

Notes

1 Multicultural Experience Enhances Creativity at ResearchGate.
2 The shortest path to oneself leads around the world: Living abroad increases self-concept clarity on Journal of Personality and Social Psychology.
3 Migration, cultural bereavement and cultural identity at PMC.
4Liquid Modernity by Zygmunt Bauman.
5 Bringing your TCK’s “Hidden Losses” out of hiding at Global Trellis.