I Sold Everything to Travel the World at 47. It Didn’t Solve My Problems.
The Geographic Cure Is a Myth
My dad’s friend did the ultimate midlife escape. He sold his business, his house, and his car to travel the world at 47. He thought a change of scenery would cure his unhappiness. A year later, he was back, just as unhappy, but now he was also broke. He told my dad, “I learned the hard way that you can’t run away from your own head.” He realized his problems weren’t in his city; they were in him. He had just taken his same anxieties and unresolved issues on a very expensive trip around the globe.
The “Eat, Pray, Love” Fantasy vs. The Gritty Reality of Solo Midlife Travel.
More Food Poisoning, Less Javier Bardem
My aunt, after her divorce, had a fantasy of an “Eat, Pray, Love” journey. She pictured herself having profound spiritual awakenings and whirlwind romances in exotic locales. The reality was much grittier. She spent one week in Thailand dealing with a nasty case of food poisoning. She felt intensely lonely in Paris. She navigated confusing train schedules and dealt with lost luggage. While she did have moments of beauty and self-discovery, she said the reality of solo midlife travel is less romantic fantasy and more a challenging exercise in self-reliance and problem-solving.
How a 2-Week Vacation to a Familiar Place Healed Me More Than a 6-Month Backpacking Trip.
I Needed Comfort, Not a Challenge
In my thirties, I took a six-month backpacking trip through Asia to “find myself.” It was an adventure. In my late forties, feeling burnt out and lost, I took a different kind of trip. I rented a small cabin for two weeks in a quiet beach town I had loved as a child. I didn’t explore; I just rested. I read books, took long walks, and cooked simple meals. That quiet, familiar, comfortable trip did more to heal my soul than the six months of adventure ever did. Sometimes, you don’t need a challenge; you need a sanctuary.
The “Geographic Cure” Is a Myth. You Take Yourself With You.
A New City, the Same Old Me
My coworker was convinced that his unhappiness was due to his boring hometown. He packed up his life at 45 and moved to a trendy, exciting city on the coast. For the first few months, the novelty was thrilling. But soon, his old patterns reappeared. He was still lonely, still anxious, still dissatisfied with his work. He had simply imported his old self into a new, more expensive zip code. He learned that a new location is just a new backdrop. If you want to change your life, you have to change your inner landscape, not just the outer one.
I Thought I Wanted to See the World. I Just Wanted to Escape My House.
My Wanderlust Was a Symptom of My Unhappiness at Home
I spent hours every week scrolling through travel blogs and fantasizing about exotic trips. I thought I had a deep case of “wanderlust.” But my therapist asked a piercing question: “What are you trying to escape from?” I realized my intense desire to be “anywhere but here” wasn’t about a love of travel; it was about a deep dissatisfaction with my daily life. The problem wasn’t that I needed to see the world; the problem was that I needed to build a life at home that I didn’t feel a desperate need to escape from.
The “Transformational” Trip That Actually Transformed Me (And Why It Was Different).
It Had an Intention, Not Just an Itinerary
I’ve taken many vacations. Most were just pleasant escapes. But one trip actually transformed me. I went on a week-long guided hiking trip in the desert. The difference was the intention. It wasn’t just about seeing sights; it was a trip designed for reflection. We had group discussions, periods of silence, and journaling prompts. It wasn’t just a vacation; it was a structured journey. The transformation came because the trip was designed to push me out of my comfort zone and force me to look inward, not just outward at the scenery.
How to Plan a Midlife “Sabbatical” That’s Restorative, Not Regrettable.
A Break With a Purpose
My boss took a three-month sabbatical. He didn’t just book a ticket and leave. He planned it with a clear intention. He told me his goal was not to “do nothing,” but to explore a new interest. He spent his sabbatical taking an intensive course in woodworking. The structured, purposeful nature of his break was key. He came back not just rested, but with a new skill and a renewed sense of passion. A good sabbatical isn’t just an escape from your old life; it’s a deliberate exploration of a potential new one.
The Loneliness of a “Midlife Gap Year.”
I Was Old Enough to Be Everyone’s Dad
Inspired by younger backpackers, my uncle took a “midlife gap year” at 52 to travel through Southeast Asia. He imagined bonding with fellow travelers in hostels. The reality was different. He was often the oldest person in the dorm by 30 years. He had little in common with the 22-year-olds who were focused on partying. The loneliness was profound. He was an observer, not a participant. He learned that while solo travel can be liberating, it can also be incredibly isolating when you’re in a completely different life stage than everyone around you.
My “Divorce-moon”: A Trip to Reclaim My Own Identity.
I Had to Learn to Be a “Me” Instead of a “We”
After my aunt’s divorce, she realized she had never traveled alone. Every trip had been a compromise with her ex-husband. To reclaim her identity, she booked a solo “divorce-moon” to Santa Fe. She ate where she wanted to eat. She spent hours in the art galleries she wanted to see. She went at her own pace. The trip was a powerful act of self-discovery. She had to learn to be a “me” instead of a “we” again. It was the first step in building a new life that was entirely her own.
The Travel “Mistake” That Taught Me Everything About Myself.
My Missed Flight Was a Blessing in Disguise
I meticulously planned a trip to Italy. I had every train ticket and hotel booked. Then, I made a stupid mistake and missed my connecting flight, which threw my entire, perfect itinerary into chaos. I was furious at myself. But that “mistake” forced me to improvise. I ended up staying in a small town I had never heard of and had the most authentic, wonderful experience of my trip. It taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes, the greatest travel moments happen when our perfect plans fall apart.
How to Travel With Your Spouse in Midlife Without Killing Each Other.
We Needed Separate Itineraries for a Shared Vacation
My parents’ travel styles are completely incompatible. My dad wants to see every museum; my mom wants to sit by the pool. Their vacations used to be a source of constant conflict. They finally found a solution: separate but together. They travel to the same city, but they often spend their days doing separate activities. They meet up for dinner to share their different adventures. This simple strategy of allowing for autonomy within the shared trip has saved their vacations and probably their marriage.
The “Comfort Zone Challenge” Trip: Intentionally Seeking Discomfort.
I Chose the Harder Path on Purpose
Feeling stuck in a comfortable rut, I planned a trip with one rule: I had to intentionally seek out discomfort. Instead of a hotel, I booked a homestay. Instead of taking taxis, I navigated the confusing local bus system. Instead of eating at tourist restaurants, I tried street food from a vendor who didn’t speak English. It wasn’t a “relaxing” vacation. It was challenging and sometimes frustrating. But it jolted me out of my complacency and reminded me that I am more capable and resilient than I thought.
I Went Back to a Place I Loved in My 20s. It Was a Mistake.
You Can’t Recapture a Past Feeling
In my twenties, I had a magical backpacking trip through Greece. In my late forties, feeling nostalgic, I went back to the same island, hoping to recapture that feeling. It was a mistake. The island had changed, but more importantly, I had changed. I was no longer a carefree 22-year-old; I was a middle-aged man who cared about a comfortable bed and a quiet night’s sleep. The trip was a depressing lesson: you can never step in the same river twice. It’s better to create new memories than to try to relive old ones.
The “Staycation” That Was More Insightful Than a Trip to Bali.
I Became a Tourist in My Own Life
I couldn’t afford a big trip, but I was desperate for a break. I took a week off work and had a “staycation.” But I didn’t just do chores. I became a tourist in my own city. I visited the local museum I had never been to. I tried a new restaurant in a different neighborhood. I spent a whole afternoon reading in a park. By looking at my own familiar surroundings with a fresh, curious perspective, I got the mental benefits of travel—novelty and discovery—without the cost or stress of an airplane.
The Financial Reality of Long-Term Midlife Travel.
The Budget Is Less Glamorous Than the Photos
My coworker is planning a one-year trip around the world. The Instagram photos will be glamorous. The financial spreadsheet is not. The budget isn’t just flights and hotels. It includes things like travel insurance, which is more expensive in midlife. It includes the cost of storing her furniture back home. She had to factor in a significant “contingency fund” for unexpected medical issues or travel disruptions. The financial reality of long-term travel is a complex puzzle of spreadsheets and planning, a far cry from the carefree image it projects.
The “Heritage Trip”: Visiting the Land of My Ancestors.
A Journey to Understand My Own Roots
My friend, a third-generation Irish-American, had always felt a pull toward Ireland. At 50, he took a “heritage trip.” He didn’t just go to the tourist spots. He went to the small, rural parish where his great-grandparents were from. He looked up old church records. He walked through the cemetery and found their headstones. He told me the experience was profoundly moving. It wasn’t just a vacation; it was a journey to connect with his own history and to better understand the roots of who he is.
I Didn’t Need a New Place; I Needed a New Perspective on My Old Place.
I Found Novelty in My Daily Commute
I was feeling bored and stuck, and I was blaming it on my “boring” town. I fantasized about moving. A friend challenged me to find novelty right where I was. I started taking a different route to work every day. I started walking through my neighborhood and paying attention to the architecture, instead of just rushing by. I discovered a hidden park, a quirky little shop, a beautiful garden. I realized the problem wasn’t my town; it was my own lack of attention. I didn’t need a new place; I just needed new eyes.
The “Walking Pilgrimage” (Camino de Santiago) and Its Midlife Lessons.
My Only Job Was to Put One Foot in Front of the Other
Feeling lost in her midlife, my aunt decided to walk a section of the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route in Spain. For two weeks, her life was stripped down to its absolute basics. Her only job was to wake up, put on her boots, and walk. The simplicity was profound. It taught her that you can endure more than you think. It showed her the kindness of strangers. And it proved that if you just focus on taking the next small step, you can eventually cross a whole country.
How I Dealt With the “Post-Trip Blues” and Integrated My Lessons.
The Hardest Part of the Journey Is the Re-Entry
I came back from a life-changing trip feeling on top of the world. A week later, back in my routine, I was hit with a serious case of the “post-trip blues.” All the amazing insights I had gained were fading in the face of work emails and laundry. To combat this, I had to be intentional about integrating the lessons. I scheduled a “debrief” with myself. I wrote down the key things I learned. I chose one small habit from my trip—like a daily walk—and incorporated it into my real life.
The Difference Between a “Vacation” and a “Journey.”
One Is an Escape, the Other Is an Exploration
I’ve learned to distinguish between a “vacation” and a “journey.” A vacation is an escape. The goal is to relax, recharge, and avoid discomfort. It’s about sitting by the pool with a drink. A journey is an exploration. The goal is growth, learning, and self-discovery, which often involves discomfort and challenges. Both are valuable. But understanding what you are seeking—escape or exploration—is key to planning a trip that actually meets your needs. A midlife crisis often requires a journey, not just a vacation.
I Stopped Planning Every Detail. The Magic Happened in the Unplanned Moments.
My Itinerary Was a Prison
I used to be a meticulous travel planner. Every hour of my trip was scheduled. It was efficient, but it was also sterile. On a trip to Mexico, my rental car broke down in a small village. It was an unplanned disaster that completely wrecked my schedule. But it also led to me being “adopted” by a local family for the afternoon while I waited for a tow. That unplanned, chaotic, and deeply human experience was the most magical and memorable part of my entire trip. Now, I always build “unplanned” time into my itinerary.
The “Digital Nomad” Life at 50: Pros and Cons.
It’s Not All Laptops on a Beach
My former colleague became a “digital nomad” at 51. The pros are obvious: he gets to see the world while still earning a living. He has incredible freedom. The cons, he admits, are less obvious. The constant search for reliable Wi-Fi is a stress. The time zone differences can be brutal for client calls. And the lack of a stable community can be incredibly lonely. It’s a lifestyle that looks glamorous on Instagram, but the reality is a complex trade-off between freedom and stability.
How Travel Forced Me to Confront My Own Prejudices and Privileges.
My “Normal” Was Not the World’s “Normal”
I thought I was a pretty open-minded person. Then I spent a month traveling through a developing country. The experience was a profound and uncomfortable mirror. It forced me to confront my own unspoken prejudices. It made me acutely aware of my immense privilege—the clean water I take for granted, the safety, the economic opportunity. Travel shattered my comfortable little bubble and showed me that my “normal” was not the world’s “normal.” It was a humbling and necessary education.
The Volunteer Trip That Gave Me Purpose, Not Just Passport Stamps.
I Was There to Give, Not Just to Take
Feeling a lack of purpose, I signed up for a “volunteer trip” to help build a school in a rural community in Peru. It was not a relaxing vacation. The work was hard, and the living conditions were basic. But the experience was infinitely more rewarding than any luxury trip I’ve ever taken. I wasn’t just a tourist consuming their culture; I was a partner contributing to their community. The trip gave me more than just a new passport stamp; it gave me a renewed sense of purpose.
I Thought I Was “Adventurous.” I Was Just Running Away From Intimacy.
My Passport Stamps Were a Shield
For years, my identity was “the adventurous traveler.” I was always planning my next big, exotic trip. I looked down on my friends who were settling down. A therapist helped me see the pattern. My “adventurous spirit” was also a fear of intimacy and commitment. By always being on the move, I never had to build deep, lasting roots or face the complexities of a long-term relationship. My passport was a shield. The real adventure, I learned, was staying in one place and building a life.
The Day I Got Sick in a Foreign Country and Had to Rely on Strangers.
My Vulnerability Became a Bridge to Connection
I got a terrible stomach bug while traveling alone in Vietnam. I was weak, dehydrated, and scared. I had to humbly ask the owner of my small guesthouse for help. She didn’t speak much English, but she understood. She brought me tea and rice porridge. She checked on me like I was her own son. The experience of being completely vulnerable and having to rely on the kindness of a stranger was a powerful lesson in our shared humanity. Her simple act of compassion transcended any language barrier.
How I Used Travel to Heal From Grief.
A Journey Through a New Landscape Helped Me Navigate My Inner One
After my mother died, I was drowning in grief. My house was full of her memories. I booked a solo hiking trip along the coast of Scotland. The physical challenge of the daily hikes, the stark and beautiful scenery, and the solitude gave me the space I needed to grieve. The external journey through a new, rugged landscape mirrored the internal journey I was on. It didn’t “cure” my grief, but it allowed me to move through it in a way that felt healthy and honest.
The “Micro-Adventures” in My Own State That Scratched the Travel Itch.
Exploring My Own Backyard With a Tourist’s Eyes
I had a strong urge to travel, but no time or money for a big trip. So I started planning “micro-adventures” in my own state. One weekend, I drove three hours to explore a small town I’d never been to. Another weekend, I visited a state park just 45 minutes away. I treated these small excursions with the same curiosity and planning as a foreign trip. These micro-adventures scratched the travel itch, provided a much-needed sense of novelty, and reminded me that adventure doesn’t always require a passport.
I Learned More From the “Disastrous” Travel Days Than the Perfect Ones.
The Best Stories Come From the Worst Days
My wife and I still talk about our most “disastrous” travel day ever. We got on the wrong train, got caught in a torrential downpour, and ended up eating stale crackers for dinner. At the time, it was miserable. Now, it’s our favorite story to tell. The perfect, sunny days at the beach are pleasant, but they all blend together. The disastrous days, the ones where things go wrong, are the ones that test your resilience, force you to work together, and ultimately become the legendary stories you tell for the rest of your life.
The Guilt of Leaving My Family/Responsibilities to Travel.
Giving Myself Permission to Put on My Own Oxygen Mask
I felt an immense sense of guilt about taking a one-week solo trip. I felt like I was abandoning my spouse, my kids, and my responsibilities at work. A friend gave me this reframe: “This isn’t an indulgence; it’s a strategic retreat. You are taking this time for yourself so you can come back a better, more present, and less burnt-out version of yourself.” I had to give myself permission to put on my own oxygen mask first. The trip wasn’t a selfish act; it was a necessary act of self-preservation.
How to Pack for a Midlife Journey (Hint: It’s More Than Just Clothes).
I Packed for Comfort, Not for Instagram
In my twenties, I packed for adventure. In my forties, I pack for comfort. My midlife travel suitcase looks different. It includes fewer trendy outfits and more practical layers. It has a well-stocked first-aid kit with things like pain relievers and stomach medicine. It includes a good book, my comfortable walking shoes, and a copy of my health insurance. I’ve learned that a successful trip in midlife isn’t just about what you’ll wear; it’s about anticipating your needs and packing the things that will ensure your physical and mental comfort.
The “Travel Burnout” Is Real.
I Was Tired of Waking Up in a New City
I was on a multi-city trip through Europe, trying to see as much as possible. After the fourth city in ten days, I hit a wall. I was tired of navigating new subway systems, tired of living out of a suitcase, tired of feeling like a perpetual stranger. It was “travel burnout.” I scrapped the rest of my ambitious itinerary, booked a train to a small, quiet town, and stayed there for the last five days of my trip. It was a crucial lesson: travel itself can become a job, and sometimes you need a vacation from your vacation.
I Recreated a Photo From My Youthful Travels. The Comparison Was Brutal.
Me at 20 vs. Me at 48
On a trip to Paris, I decided to recreate a photo I had taken in the exact same spot when I was 20. I stood by the Seine and had my wife take the picture. When I looked at the two photos side-by-side, the comparison was brutal. The young man was skinny, with a full head of hair and a carefree smile. The 48-year-old was thicker, grayer, and had wrinkles around his eyes. It was a stark, visual representation of the passage of time. And it was a necessary moment of accepting the man I am now.
The Best Travel Apps and Gear for the “Comfort-Seeking” Adventurer.
My Knees Aren’t What They Used to Be
My dad still loves to travel, but his body has different needs now. He’s become an expert on gear for the “comfort-seeking adventurer.” He swears by his high-quality, supportive hiking boots. He uses noise-canceling headphones on planes to reduce fatigue. He has a lightweight, collapsible walking stick for long city walks. He uses apps that show the elevation changes on a proposed walking route. He can still be adventurous, but he uses modern gear and technology to mitigate the physical strains of travel on a 60-year-old body.
How I Made Friends on the Road as a Solo Midlife Traveler.
I Had to Be the One to Say Hello
Making friends on the road is easy when you’re 22 and staying in hostels. It’s harder when you’re 48 and staying in a quiet hotel. I learned I had to be more proactive. I started taking small group tours—like a food tour or a bike tour. These were great for meeting other like-minded travelers. I also learned to just strike up conversations with people—the bartender, the shopkeeper, the person next to me at a coffee shop. It felt awkward at first, but I realized people are generally friendly if you’re the one who makes the first move.
The Language I Learned for a Trip Re-wired My Brain.
My Trip Started Six Months Before I Left
I was planning a trip to Spain. Instead of just showing up, I spent the six months before my trip using an app to learn basic Spanish. The process of learning a new language was an adventure in itself. It re-wired my brain and made me think in different ways. And when I got to Spain, being able to have simple conversations with local people completely transformed my experience. I wasn’t just a passive tourist; I was an active participant. The trip didn’t start at the airport; it started with that first Spanish lesson.
The Day I Realized My “Wanderlust” Was a Symptom of My Dissatisfaction.
I Was Trying to Outrun My Own Life
I had a constant, nagging feeling of “wanderlust.” I was always dreaming of the next trip, the next escape. I thought it was a personality trait. A therapist helped me see it differently. My wanderlust wasn’t a desire for something new; it was a desire to escape something old. I was dissatisfied with my job and my marriage. The “wanderlust” was a symptom of a deeper problem. The solution wasn’t another plane ticket; it was the hard work of building a daily life that I didn’t want to run away from.
I Traded Luxury Resorts for Homestays. It Changed Everything.
I Wanted Connection, Not Just Comfort
My vacations used to be about luxury resorts and infinity pools. They were beautiful but sterile. I felt disconnected from the places I was visiting. On a trip to Costa Rica, I decided to try a homestay instead. I stayed with a local family. I ate their food, I helped with their chores, I played with their kids. It was less “comfortable” than the resort, but it was infinitely more real and connecting. It changed how I travel. Now I seek out experiences that offer connection, not just consumption.
The “Homecoming” and the Challenge of Re-entry Into Normal Life.
My Life Felt Small and Gray After My Big Adventure
After a month-long trip through the vibrant landscapes of India, coming home to my suburban routine was a shock. My normal life felt small, quiet, and depressingly mundane. The re-entry was surprisingly difficult. I had to consciously find ways to integrate the sense of adventure and wonder from my trip back into my daily life. I started cooking Indian food. I put up photos. I made an effort to see my own town with the fresh eyes of a traveler. The homecoming is a crucial, and often challenging, final chapter of any great journey.
How I’m Using Travel to Connect With My Adult Children.
A New Kind of Family Vacation
Family vacations with my adult children had become a challenge. We all had different interests. So we started a new tradition: every year, one of the “kids” gets to plan a trip for just them and me. My son took me on a craft beer tour of Colorado. My daughter took me to the art museums in New York. These one-on-one trips have allowed me to connect with them as adults, on their own terms. It’s a way of building a new kind of relationship with them, based on their passions.
The Surprising Physical Demands of Travel in Midlife.
Jet Lag Hits Different at 50
I used to be able to take a red-eye flight, land, and go straight into a full day of sightseeing. At 51, that is a fantasy. Jet lag now takes me days to recover from. Walking 20,000 steps a day on cobblestone streets leaves my knees and back screaming. The physical demands of travel are just higher in midlife. I’ve had to learn to slow down, build in rest days, and listen to my body’s limits. My spirit might still be adventurous, but my cartilage is demanding a more sensible itinerary.
The “Pre-Trip Anxiety” and How I Managed It.
My Brain Was Convinced I Had Forgotten Something Crucial
In the week leading up to a big trip, I get terrible “pre-trip anxiety.” My brain goes into overdrive, convinced I’ve forgotten to pack something essential or book a crucial ticket. I’m a mess of “what ifs.” My solution is a master packing list and a “go-bag” of essentials. I also write out a detailed itinerary with all my confirmation numbers. By externalizing all the details onto paper, I can calm my anxious brain. It’s a way of proving to myself that I am, in fact, prepared.
My “Travel Journal” Became a Guidebook to My Own Soul.
The Itinerary Was Both External and Internal
I kept a journal on my solo trip through Japan. I didn’t just record what I saw; I recorded what I felt. I wrote about my feelings of loneliness, my moments of awe, my frustrations with the language barrier. When I got home and re-read the journal, I realized I hadn’t just written a travelogue; I had written a guidebook to my own inner world. The external journey was just a backdrop for a much more important internal one. The journal became a map of my own soul.
The Trip That Tested My Marriage to Its Breaking Point.
When “Travel Stress” Exposes the Cracks in Your Foundation
My wife and I thought a two-week trip through Italy would be a romantic escape. Instead, it was a disaster. The stress of navigating a foreign country, combined with being together 24/7, exposed all the cracks that already existed in our marriage. Every small disagreement about a map or a menu became a huge fight about our deeper issues. That trip didn’t create the problems, but it put them under a magnifying glass. We came home and went straight into couples counseling.
The “One-Bag” Challenge at 50.
The Joy of Traveling Light
For a trip to Portugal, I challenged myself to pack everything in a single carry-on bag. It was an exercise in radical minimalism. I had to be ruthless about what was truly essential. The experience was liberating. I could move through airports and train stations with ease. I had less “stuff” to manage and worry about. It was a powerful metaphor for my midlife journey: the joy and freedom that come from letting go of all the non-essential baggage you’ve been carrying around for years.
I Stopped Taking So Many Photos and Started Being More Present.
I Was Seeing the World Through a 3-Inch Screen
I was at the Grand Canyon, and I realized I was so busy trying to get the perfect photo that I wasn’t actually looking at the Grand Canyon. I was experiencing one of the world’s great wonders through a tiny screen. I put my phone away. I just sat and looked for 20 minutes. I consciously decided to trade the perfect picture for the perfect memory. Now, I try to take a few quick shots and then put the camera away, so I can be present for the actual experience.
The Most Important Souvenir I Brought Home Wasn’t an Object.
The Best Things I Found Were Intangible
I used to collect souvenirs from my travels—t-shirts, mugs, little trinkets. My house was full of them. Now, I try to bring back a different kind of souvenir. From my trip to Japan, I brought back the practice of taking my shoes off at the door. From my trip to Italy, I brought back the appreciation for a slow, multi-course meal. The most valuable and lasting souvenirs are not the objects you buy, but the habits, perspectives, and ideas that you can integrate into your daily life back home.
The “Scam” I Fell For and the Lesson It Taught Me About Trust.
My Own Greed and Naivete Were the Real Problem
In a busy market in Marrakech, I fell for a classic “scam.” A friendly man offered to show me a “special” tannery, and I ended up being pressured into buying an overpriced leather bag. I was so angry and embarrassed. But later, I realized I wasn’t just a victim. My own naivete and my desire to get a “special, secret deal” made me vulnerable. The scam worked because it played on my own greed and ignorance. It was a humbling and expensive lesson in trusting my gut and recognizing that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
How Travel Made Me Appreciate My “Boring” Life Back Home.
There’s No Place Like Your Own Bed
After a month of living out of a backpack, sleeping in strange beds, and constantly being on guard in new environments, the feeling of returning to my own “boring” home was pure bliss. The simple pleasure of sleeping in my own bed, of knowing where everything is in my kitchen, of being in a safe and familiar space—these were luxuries I had completely taken for granted. Travel is wonderful, but one of its greatest gifts is the profound appreciation it gives you for the simple, comforting routines of your own life.
My “Travel Manifesto” for the Second Half of My Life.
My New Rules for the Road
I’ve developed a “travel manifesto” to guide my journeys in the second half of my life. It includes rules like: “I will prioritize comfort over cost.” “I will build in rest days.” “I will pack half as much stuff and twice as much money as I think I need.” “I will learn at least five phrases in the local language.” And most importantly, “The goal is not to see everything, but to truly experience a few things.” This manifesto helps me travel in a way that is sustainable, enriching, and joyful.