Free, But Stuck: Living Through Another Trump Presidency
In 2016, I thought freedom meant movement.
If Hillary Clinton won the presidency, I’d apply to the State Department to become a Foreign Service Officer—a life I’d always imagined. It’s what I went to school for and it seemed suited to my personality: structured and diplomatic, but still flexible enough to see the world.
And if Trump won, I’d move abroad.
So when the results came in, I booked a one-way ticket to Thailand.
It wasn’t an impulsive escape. The year before, I’d done a four-month solo trip around Southeast Asia with my little purple suitcase named Beverly. Before that, I’d spent a year teaching English in South Korea. I already knew I could build a life overseas. I’d even lined up a remote teaching job as a safety net, so if the world went sideways, I’d still have an income.
When Trump took office in January 2017, I got on that plane and didn’t look back. I didn’t know what was in store for the future, but I wanted to live life on my own terms while I still could.
If you think about it, the way the world has been organized since World War II had never existed before in human history. That level of cooperation between countries—and freedom within many of them—was unprecedented. Which made it fragile. That level or organization was definitely not a given, despite how much we’d come to take it for granted. All it takes is reading a few history or political science texts to realize how quickly it can vanish.
Living abroad during Trump’s first term gave me distance—not just from America, but from the version of myself that was constantly braced for impact. Abroad, I could breathe. I could wake up and not check the news from my pillow. I could be a person instead of a citizen on edge.
For several years I lived as a digital nomad, and that life worked. At first, I thought I’d move to a different country every three months, but I felt so comfortable in Thailand I ended up staying a year and a half. Chiang Mai became my home base: small enough to feel cozy while still connected to the world. I’d hop on planes, travel through Asia and Europe, and still come back there to rest.
Every time I return to Chiang Mai, I feel calm, like I’m coming home. And at the same time, Chiang Mai feels like retirement. I can coast, but I can’t build. It’s not a place for growth or ambition, so I only like it in small doses. I need a challenge to feel alive.
The first time Trump was elected, leaving felt like liberation. This time, it feels like avoidance. Or punishment.
Something has shifted with this second Trump presidency. I feel like I’ve already lived the life I set out to create—the “foreign service” life, but on my own terms. I like knowing how open and adaptable I can be, but I’ve done it. I’m older now. I want to feel settled. I don’t want to keep living out of a suitcase. The feeling that my freedom depends on perpetual motion is exhausting.
So here we are again. Another Trump presidency. Another round of disbelief.
And I find myself asking: Goddamnit, why are you doing this again? Why are you making us question our futures, our plans, our sense of belonging—again? Just go the fuck away.
I don’t feel comfortable committing to the United States right now because I don’t trust it. I don’t trust the people in power. I don’t trust that the institutions meant to protect us will remain intact. I don’t trust the public’s ability to distinguish truth from spectacle. Or to understand what it takes to maintain a democracy.
And I don’t like that one of the most American things I could do right now is leave. To go somewhere that actually embodies the values the U.S. claims to have. Because in my mind, America was supposed to be the place people fled to when dictators rose in their countries.
In that logic, being American meant moving toward freedom. I hate that now, moving toward freedom means moving away from America. Apparently American freedom now involves fight or flight. Both sound exhausting.
