08/06/2025
I travel even though I know when I get back home I would barely have money left.
It sounds irresponsible.
But for me, it’s the only way I feel alive.
I know I’ll come home to a wallet that feels like a joke—
just coins and crumpled receipts.
But I also come home with stories:
of quiet mornings in unfamiliar towns,
of strangers who smiled at me like we’d met before,
of sunsets that made me pause and forget everything I was running from.
Some people think travel is just for the rich.
I get that.
But I’ve learned that the richness I’m after
isn’t in luxury.
It’s in moments that cost little
but mean everything.
A hot coffee at a roadside café in a place I can’t even pronounce.
A long bus ride beside a window full of wonder.
Getting lost,
and realizing that sometimes—
getting lost is exactly what I need.
I travel to remember that there’s more to life
than bills, deadlines, and the same four walls.
That there’s a world outside my worries,
and sometimes the best way to heal
is to go where no one knows your name.
Yeah, it’s scary to spend what little you’ve saved.
It’s not always wise.
But neither is waiting for the perfect time that never comes.
So I pack light,
travel cheap,
and chase the kind of peace I can’t buy.
I don’t always know where I’m going.
But I know what I’m looking for—
a version of myself
who feels free, even just for a while.
And if coming home broke is the price I pay
for feeling fully alive—
then honestly,
I’d pay it again and again.