After decades abroad, a reporter feels the pull of nomadic life—and recognizes the U.S. less and less

The Customs and Border Protection agent at JFK opened my well-worn U.S. passport. “Where’d you fly in from today?” “Madrid.” “And how long were you away this trip?” “I live and work in Spain,” I said. “I’m just visiting.” The agent flipped through pages that trace a globetrotting life and stamped one.