I once believed that “home” was a term filled with negativity. The excitement of life unfolded out there — on the journey — brimming with thrilling escapades, intriguing individuals, and limitless opportunities. No monotonous drives to work, half-hour lunch breaks, tedious meetings, or endless to-do lists crammed into a hurried weekend.
Why would anyone wish to be at home, where the routine appeared to diminish your desire to live? It perplexed me.
My initial overseas trip — a getaway to Costa Rica — ignited my passion for exploration. For all the reasons stated earlier, I comprehended why “vacations” were so idealized in workplace culture. They offered a freedom starkly contrasting the daily grind of corporate life.
Thus, when I finally resigned from my job, I embarked on an adventure to immerse myself in everything the world had to present for as long as my funds permitted.
After all, who could ever grow weary of life on the road?
Well, I did.
Eventually, I became weary of being a full-time traveler. I longed for consistent friendships, regular workouts, a local bar that recognized me, a kitchen to prepare meals in, and my own cozy bed.
Suddenly, I understood that “home” wasn’t a negative term. It simply felt that way to a young, restless spirit who perceived adulthood as far away.
I came to recognize what someone just beginning their journey with romanticized travel notions could not: Burnout is real. On my initial trip abroad, after a year and a half, I reached my limit and chose to shorten my travels. Then, years later, in 2013, I realized that the nomadic lifestyle was no longer suitable for me and opted to cease full-time traveling.
It was time to mature, I declared. Time to settle down and transition from nomad to… whatever awaited me next.
Yet, the allure of the journey — and the business of working in travel — frequently beckoned me back.
As the years passed, I drifted between two realms: one where I traveled, yearning for home, and another where I was home, eager to venture out again.
There were times I wished for a clone so I could inhabit both spaces and fulfill my conflicting desires.
After all, you can’t — and shouldn’t — reside in only one indefinitely.
Because travel and home are interdependent forces, yin and yang. Lacking one, you cannot fully value the other.
Every traveler reaches a point where they pause and think, “I’m ready to settle in one spot.” The timing and reasoning behind this varies, but I have yet to encounter a traveler devoid of that experience. When I started my travels in my twenties, it took years for that realization to dawn on me. Now, two decades later, it occurs after just a month.
To manage life, our minds create mental shortcuts for processing information. It’s why we often take the same route to work daily — it’s simply easier, which is also why it feels like “you could do it in your sleep.” If your mind had to assess a new route every day, it would quickly exhaust itself. These routines allow us to put much of life on autopilot, conserving energy for work, relationships, emotions, thoughts, etc.
However, traveling requires you to relearn basic life skills each day. There are no mental shortcuts. It demands significant mental energy to navigate the world anew day after day, repack your belongings, say farewell to the person you met previously, and venture out again to navigate unfamiliar territories, languages, and cultures as though you’ve never done it before.
It can be draining.
While a vacation provides a brief respite from life, long-term travel is different. When engaging in long-term travel (or frequently on the move), there is no break. You’re incessantly attempting to figure things out while perpetually disrupting your routine. Your travel battery diminishes.
Yet, just as the travel battery requires recharging, our “home” battery does too.
While some individuals can adhere to the same routine throughout their lives, the majority of us find it tedious. We crave a break. After some time in one location, we desire to disrupt the monotony of our daily lives. Work, commutes, errands… day in, day out, like ants marching endlessly.
So we set off on another adventure. We experience thrilling escapades, meet new faces, sample diverse cuisines, and gain fresh experiences. Perhaps we learn, grow, and develop as individuals. We might be gone for a week or two or take a month off. Or we work remotely and spend several months away. But eventually, our energy wanes: we grow weary, and soon we return home again.