I once believed that the term “home” was a negative one. Out there — on the journey — was where life unfolded, filled with thrilling escapades, intriguing individuals, and limitless opportunities. No monotonous commutes, half-hour lunch breaks, tedious meetings, or unending chores crammed into a hurried weekend.
Why would anyone desire to be at home, the space where routine seemed to drain your will to live? It perplexed me.
My initial trip abroad — a getaway to Costa Rica — made me fall head over heels for traveling. For all the reasons stated before, I came to realize why “vacations” were so glorified in professional culture. They possessed a freedom that sharply contrasted with the daily corporate hustle.
So, when I eventually resigned from my job, I embarked on a journey to savor everything the world had in store for as long as my finances would allow.
I mean, who could ever grow weary of the road?
Well, I did.
Ultimately, I became fatigued with being a permanent wanderer. I longed for a consistent group of friends, regular workouts, a pub that recognized me, a kitchen to cook in, and a familiar bed.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that “home” wasn’t a dirty term. It merely felt that way to a young, restless spirit for whom adulthood seemed light-years away.
I came to comprehend what someone just beginning their journey with romantic ideas about travel couldn’t: Fatigue can set in. During my first trip overseas, after 18 months, I hit my limit and chose to cut my travels short. Years later, in 2013, I determined that a nomadic lifestyle no longer suited me and opted to cease traveling full-time.
It was time to mature, I resolved. Time to settle and transition from nomad to… whatever lay ahead.
Yet the temptation of the road — and the bustle of working in travel — continually drew me back.
As time passed, I existed between two realms: one where I was traveling, yearning for home, and another where I was home, desiring to venture out once more.
There were times when I wished for a clone so I could inhabit both and fulfill my dual longings.
After all, you can’t — and shouldn’t — remain solely in one for eternity.
Because travel and home are complementary elements, yin and yang. Lacking one inhibits the appreciation of the other.
All travelers encounter a limit, that moment when they glance around and think, “I’m ready to settle down.” When and why this occurs are influenced by numerous factors, but I have yet to meet a traveler who hasn’t faced that situation. When I began traveling in my twenties, it took me several years to experience that. Now, a couple of decades later, it happens after just a month.
To cope with life, the mind forms mental shortcuts to aid information processing. This is why we typically drive the same route to work every day — it’s simply easier, and it’s why you feel like “you can do it in your sleep.” If your brain had to devise a new route to work daily, it would exhaust itself. These habits enable us to put much of life on autopilot, conserving energy for work, relationships, emotions, thoughts, etc.
However, when you travel, you’re relearning essential life skills daily. There are no mental shortcuts. It demands a significant amount of mental energy to navigate your way in the world anew each day, to repack your luggage, bid farewell to the person you met yesterday, and venture forth to attempt once again to traverse unknown territories, languages, and people as if you’ve never done so before.
It can wear you out.
Whereas a vacation serves as a temporary escape from reality, long-term travel constitutes something different. When you travel for an extended period (or are frequently on the go), there is no break. You’re perpetually attempting to figure things out while also consistently disrupting your routine. Your travel battery depletes.
Yet, just as the travel battery requires recharging, so does our “home” battery.
While some individuals can adhere to the same routine their entire lives, most of us cannot. We find it tedious. We seek a break. After spending a while in one location, we crave to disrupt the monotony of our everyday routine. Work, commutes, errands… day in, day out, like ants marching endlessly.
Thus, we venture out to travel again. We embark on an adventure, meet new faces, sample new cuisines, and have new experiences. Perhaps we learn, evolve, and broaden our identity. We may be away for a week or two, or perhaps we take a month off. Or we might begin working remotely and spend months away. But eventually, our battery depletes: we become exhausted, and then we return home once more.
