Work With Us, Laugh With Us, Disagree With Us. (Preferably All Three.)
The Nomag Pulse #31
A Story About Chaos, A Call To Create, And A Reminder That None of Us Are Really Stable
There’s a story we’ve been wanting to tell you — and, in a way, it’s the reason this issue exists at all.
It starts in a small café, in a country we arrived in by accident, at an hour of the day that didn’t belong to our time zone. The kind of moment when your brain is awake but your calendar isn’t, and everything feels slightly delayed, like a live stream with bad audio.
We were supposed to be working.
Correction: we were working.
Fully focused. Proper adults.
Laptop charged, coffee secured, energy surprisingly optimistic.
And then, at the exact peak of competence — you know, that rare 12-second window where you sound brilliant, in control, emotionally hydrated — the universe decided to remind us who we actually are.
The power went out.
Not in the whole café.
Not in the block.
Not for the locals.
Just for us.
Our table, specifically.
As if targeted by a bored Greek god of remote work.
Laptop: off.
Hotspot: gone.
Draft: vanished.
Face: frozen in that horrible moment between a smile and a panic attack.
In the reflection of the black screen, we saw a portrait that every nomad recognises instantly:
A person whose entire professional identity depends on infrastructure
they don’t own,
in places they don’t control,
on routines that change weekly,
carried by optimism and duct tape.
And here’s the funny part: instead of being annoyed, a small part of us thought:
“This is actually perfect. This is exactly the life we chose.”
Because being a nomad isn’t about beaches or glass offices or “living the dream”.
It’s about learning to stay yourself even when the universe yanks the plug.
It’s about navigating weirdness with humour.
It’s about building a life that is portable but not empty, unpredictable but not ungrounded.
And most of all, it’s about having stories worth telling.
Which brings us to why this Pulse exists.
Nomag Is Growing (and We Want You in It)
We receive messages every week that sound something like:
“I’ve lived things. I have stories. I want to write something with you.”
or
“I feel like Nomag is the only place that actually gets this lifestyle.”
And honestly?
That’s exactly what we want Nomag to be — not a brand broadcasting into the void, but a noisy table in a café where people with similar brains and similar chaos sit down, compare laptops, complain about time zones, and build something interesting.
If you’ve ever found yourself in a situation like the blackout above —
or one of those strange, funny, disorienting, quietly profound nomad moments —
you already have material.
And we want voices like that.
Not perfect.
Not polished.
Not the Instagram version of remote life.
The human version.
Write with us.
Build with us.
Help us shape what Nomag becomes next.
All it takes to start is an email: info@nomag.media
A paragraph.
A rough draft.
A confession you’re not sure anyone will understand.
That’s enough.
We’ll work on it together.
A Quick Note for the Brands Who Are Definitely Reading This
You’re here.
We know because half of you forward these issues internally with “can we do something like this?”
If your product, service, destination, platform or company lives anywhere near remote work, travel, mobility, creativity, somewhere-ness or nowhere-ness — let’s talk.
We don’t do banners.
We do stories.
Collaborations that feel alive, useful, and shareable, not artificial.
Same email: info@nomag.media
One message is all it takes.
Back to the Story (because everything comes back to that table)
When the power finally returned — silently, anticlimactically — our laptop lit up as if nothing had happened.
But we had changed a little.
Not in a dramatic “my life has meaning now” way.
More in a quiet, nomadic “okay, this is who we are” way.
Someone living in motion.
Someone building things in unstable places.
Someone learning to stay calm during the absurdity.
Someone who understands that meaning doesn’t come from stability —
it comes from being able to narrate the instability.
And that’s why we want this next phase of Nomag to be more collaborative, more open, more collective — because what makes nomad life meaningful is not the mobility, it’s the storytelling.
The shared chaos.
The human connection.
The ability to laugh at the mess together.
Every time we publish something that makes someone reply
“oh my god, this is me”,
we know we’re heading in the right direction.
So if you have a story — big or small, chaotic or reflective — send it.
Not because you need to be a writer.
But because someone else out there might need to read it.
If you’ve reached this point, you already know the invitation.
Tell us:
Where you are.
What you’re working on.
What went wrong recently in a way that made you laugh.
What moment made you think,
yes — this is exactly the life I wanted, even when it’s ridiculous.
We’ll take it from there.
Talk soon —
wherever the power stays on just long enough.