I once believed that “home” was a negative term. Out there — on the road — was where life truly unfolded, brimming with thrilling adventures, captivating individuals, and limitless prospects. No monotonous commutes, 30-minute lunch breaks, tedious meetings, or endless to-do lists crammed into a hurried weekend.
Why would anyone wish to be at home, the place where routine seemed to drain your desire to live? It puzzled me.
My inaugural trip abroad — a getaway to Costa Rica — ignited my passion for travel. For all the reasons aforementioned, I understood why “vacations” were so idealized within work culture. They offered a liberation that sharply contrasted with the daily corporate hustle.
So, upon finally resigning from my job, I embarked on a journey to explore all that the world had in store for as long as my funds could sustain me.
Honestly, who could ever grow weary of life on the road?
Well, I did.
Eventually, I became weary of being a full-time wanderer. I longed for a solid circle of friends, regular exercise, a bar that recognized me, a kitchen to cook in, and my own comforting bed.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that “home” wasn’t a negative term. It merely felt that way to a young, restless spirit for whom adulthood seemed light years away.
I came to realize what someone just embarking on romanticized travel notions might not grasp: you can reach your limit. During my first overseas adventure, after 18 months, I hit a breaking point and opted to shorten my trip. Years later, in 2013, I recognized that living as a nomad was no longer suited for me and decided to cease full-time travel.
It was time to mature, I told myself. Time to settle down and transition from nomad to… whatever lay ahead.
Yet the charm of the road — and the dynamics of working in travel — continually drew me back.
As the years progressed, I found myself straddling two realms: one where I traveled, yearning for home, and another where I was home, eager to venture out again.
There were instances I wished for a clone so I could exist in both places and fulfill my conflicting desires.
After all, you can’t — nor should you — dwell solely in one forever.
Because travel and home are harmonious forces, yin and yang. Without one, you can’t value the other.
All travelers encounter a moment when they survey their surroundings and think, “I’m ready to settle down.” When and why this occurs stems from various factors, yet I have yet to meet a traveler without that experience. When I began traveling in my twenties, it took me years to feel that transition. But now, a couple of decades later, it happens within just a month.
To navigate life, the brain generates mental shortcuts to assist in processing information. It’s why we typically drive the same path to work each day — it’s simply easier, and it’s why you feel “you could do it in your sleep.” Because if your brain had to determine a new route every day, it would tire itself out. These patterns allow us to put much of life on autopilot, freeing energy for work, relationships, emotions, thoughts, etc.
However, while traveling, you are relearning life skills daily. You have no mental shortcuts. It demands considerable mental energy to rediscover your way in the world each day, to repack your bag, bid farewell to someone you met yesterday, and set off to navigate new lands, languages, and people as if you had never done so before.
It exhausts you.
Whereas a vacation serves as a temporary respite from life, long-term travel is a different beast. When you engage in long-term travel (or shift frequently), there’s no pause. You are perpetually aiming to decipher things and simultaneously disrupting your routine. Your travel battery depletes.
Nevertheless, just as the travel battery needs recharging, our “home” battery requires it as well.
While some individuals can adhere to the same routine for their entire lives, most of us cannot. We find it tedious. We crave a break. After a period in one location, we long to disrupt the monotony of our daily existence. Work, commutes, errands… day after day, like ants marching on and on.
Thus, we take to traveling once more. We seek adventure, encounter new individuals, savor new cuisines, and engage in fresh experiences. Perhaps we learn, grow, and expand our personal identity. We might be away for a week or two or take a month off. Or we begin working remotely and spend several months away. Yet eventually, our battery drains: we grow fatigued, and then we return home once more.