When The Forever Traveler Gets Stuck

In search of identity, acceptance, and sticky chaos

Which way is true north when your cultural compass doesn’t work anymore? I have spent ten years in Anatolia. I always had a deep sense of who and what I was, but now... God. Who am I now? Am I a westerner or an easterner? Am I European or Asian? The funny thing is that Turks have been asking themselves this question for centuries, and they still don’t have the answer. What chance have I?

Food for thought Indeed, as I contemplate fatherhood with my beautiful and kind Turkish wife.

A lot of adventure over the past few years. Exploration. I never thought settling down would come so easily or naturally, almost as if I were pre-programmed and some all-seeing psycho in the sky flipped a switch, and good God, here I am. In Turkey. At the beginning or end of what can only be described as the biggest shitstorm to hit the biggest fan. How the fuck am I here? Why am I the only one worried about the future? Is it because I’m hungover? Is this the fear?

The currency is crashing again, which makes my dollar account look good and fat, but inflation is on the rise after the government increased the minimum wage. I am forever catching up as the cost of living increases and my confidence descends into financial despair. Why am I the only man on the street who cares? Why is it the foreigner who’s worried about this foreign land? Yes, we have seen it all before, but this time it feels different. This time, no one is bothering to complain. Turk means strong in English, and Turks are strong, so it’s unnerving when you see them sigh and shrug their shoulders at the sight of their currency crashing again. Maybe everyone is afraid. Should I be too? Should I flee this land? But what of my wife?

A letter to my little brother in 2016 after the coup attempt in Turkey. My family was trying to get me to move home. In my eyes, European life was more dangerous.

“All around me in Turkey, I see sycophants, cowards, and nutcases ruled by fear. The fear of saying the wrong thing. The fear of another protest. The fear of another internet blackout. And in Europe, all I can see are sycophants, cowards, and nutcases ruled by the fear of being politically incorrect. Ruled by the heart. Forget about our evolved caveman values! And doing whatever is necessary to make themselves feel all warm and fuzzy inside, even if it means their eventual cultural demise. A sort of cultural mass suicide of epic proportions. Look north, and you will see how quickly this is all going to go south!” — 2016

I must have been reading a lot of Hunter S. Thompson back then. Who am I kidding? That’s all I ever read back then.

Things still feel the same, but age is catching up with me. No matter where I look, I see demise, but I fear my true demise would be in turning my back on a country that helped to develop me professionally. It’s also the place that now feels like home. I guess I was never a traveler. I never wanted to go from place to place. Wherever I went, I prayed, got stuck, and stayed. Any excuse to never return to Ireland. Even during Christmas in my childhood home, surrounded by love, I missed the Bosphorus and Galata Tower and the smell of cigar and tea-soaked cobbled streets. The grey North Atlantic sky suffocates me on every return. Who am I now? Just a silly man who hates the culture that gave him his personality? God, I hope not. I love my childhood and my past, but what of them? Just because I was born there does not mean I have to die there.

I just want acceptance. I just want family, friends, etc. to accept that I am stuck here, and that’s exactly how I want it. I know I will never have it.

“Peter, I put four kids through school when I moved to Boston, painting houses and playing music, but I never got an ‘atta boy’ until I opened my own business and became rich. If you think you’ll get approval from them by playing music, writing, or whatever you like, it’ll never happen. Make your piece with it.” — My uncle John’s last piece of advice to me before he died. Even a man like him, the successful traveler, remembered vividly the times he sought approval. We both left Ireland for similar reasons. I fear these special conversations come too early in a young man's life.

I didn’t leave my country in search of fame and fortune; I left my nest in search of a new type of love. A love based on just me. Not a family name or how much money I had. Just love for the sake of love.

And I found it.

I found the true north, and it breaks my family’s heart that I found it down south.

“Turkey in 2013 doesn’t know what it wants to be, and God damn it, neither do I. Was my coming here preordained? Why is this hot, sticky chaos so comforting?

Why the hell am I finally calm?"

an email to my little brother after arriving in Turkey in 2013.

I have been Peter Murphy, and I am a stuck traveler. ❤️