🎅 An Introduction to Nomad Santa

They call me Nomad Santa. Not because I hand out presents—though I’ve been known to share a snack or a story—but because I wander. Airport to airport, city to city, country to country. And yes, I’ve got the beard.

Once, in a lounge in Dublin, I dozed off between flights. Next thing I know, I feel a tiny poke on my arm. I open one eye and see a four-year-old boy, grinning like he just struck gold. His mom rushed over, mortified.
“He thought he found Santa,” she whispered.

I get that a lot—especially in December.
Wide-eyed kids peeking from behind suitcases, unsure whether to wave or whisper their wish list. And truth be told, I don’t mind one bit.

Nomad Santa didn’t begin as a character. He began as… me.

It started with travel. A lot of it. Dozens of countries, hundreds of flights, and thousands of chance encounters. Somewhere along the way—thanks to a white beard, a twinkle in my eye, and a habit of noticing people—children started calling me Santa. Not in December. Not at the North Pole. But in taxis in Istanbul, food stalls in Bangkok, boarding gates in Sydney, and cafés in Seattle.

The name stuck. But more than that, it became a way of being.

Because Nomad Santa isn’t about gifts—not the kind you wrap, anyway.
It’s about stories. About showing up. About noticing the small, quiet moments that connect us.

The stories I share here—sometimes funny, sometimes tender, sometimes quietly profound—aren’t made up. They’re fragments of real life. Some take place at 35,000 feet. Others in hospital rooms, train stations, or silent glances between strangers. None of them are fiction.

They’re not told to impress. They’re told to remind:

There is still kindness in the world.
There is still wonder.
There is still time to notice.

It’s about carrying this message, wherever I go:

It’s a small world—and we’re all neighbors.