In 2025 I gave up everything to travel, and it wasn't what I expected

Another year in the rearview. I’m sitting at a hostel in Himarë, Albania, listening to the rumbling songs of thunder as a mini-storm passes through the coastal town. We’ve just taken down the Christmas decorations, and locals are settling back into routine well into the first week of 2026. Over the last few days my social media feeds have been flooded with an endless stream of glowing 2025 snapshot reels that fill me with the fuzzies. I love to see my friends back home and all over the world happy and living their dreams. I’m also a little envious of their editing skills and am currently addressing this in my personal debrief, because I never take enough videos. Given my short attention span, editing sometimes feels like a slow form of torture. Guess finishing a reel is officially a 2026 resolution.

If I did make my own end-of-the-year snapshot reel, it wouldn’t be the fun romp of a dream year, but more a dusklit vignette — a rough-cut collage of uneven, unpolished highlights and lowlights. I had a promising start to 2025. I was surrounded by the best friends a woman could ask for, I had just started dating someone new, and I had plans to travel through Europe on my bicycle that summer. To set out on my dream adventure meant selling most of my material possessions, leaving a community I loved, and letting go of the life I had been accustomed to. Uncertainty quickly set in, and the year carried me into currents that oscillated between waves of elation and crashes that tested my balance more than my resolve.

A noble goal

For my entire life I’ve struggled with severe depression, sometimes so crippling I question whether it even makes sense to go on. I have been very fortunate in my life in a lot of ways, but I’ve also experienced many misfortunes that have nearly destroyed me. I’ve learned that I have a terribly difficult time coping with emotional pain, and while I have forgiven and let go of a lot of the hurts from the past, I still very much struggle with low self-worth that often translates into a quiet self-loathing. I have had this idea that traveling the world could somehow cure me of this dark sickness. Not sure where I got that… maybe the opportunistic (and filtered) social media stories that travel bloggers get paid to promote. The last time I left home for long-term travel, I had two goals: to escape a hurtful situation, and to find myself. The whole Eat, Pray, Love scenario. While I had unforgettable experiences in abundance and I made many wonderful friends, I spent more time than I’d like to admit crying in my hostel bunk, ruminating on what happened to me in the lead up, and playing my own sad violin. Upon my return home, I felt a little disappointed and even confused that I hadn’t changed as much as I had hoped I would. But I wasn’t abandoning my goals for transformation just yet. I dreamed that 2025 would be the year I would finally find that great, deep meaning that would make all things make sense in the world.

Leaving home for….. a long time

One of my best friends threw a magnificent farewell party for me the week before I took my one-way flight to Dublin. The outpouring of enthusiasm was deeply appreciated. I spent much of the evening answering questions like “How are you getting your bike over there?” “Where are you most excited to visit?” “How will you support yourself?” and reminiscing with my friends about the impact we’ve had on each others’ lives. But behind my excited eyes was much quandary. I had made my decision, and it was set, but in the weeks leading up to my flight I felt empty. I know my friends, and I know that most of those I’m closest with will not let weeks go by without contact no matter how far across the globe I am. Why did I feel like I was losing something? Am I losing a community? Am I losing home? Is this really the right thing?

Having my daughter, Lily, join me for my first 10 days in Ireland kept the fear, the self-doubt, and the sadness at bay. We had an amazing time. We saw so many stunning landscapes and explored the beautiful green country while basking in our good fortune with the weather — warm, sunny days our entire trip. We bopped around Dublin, perused artisan markets and book shops in Galway, explored Connemara and the magnificent Aran Islands, and took in so much history at the many castles and ruins we visited. For our final night together before heading back to Dublin, I splurged and booked us a stay at Abbeyglen Castle in Clifden. It was pure magic to spend that evening with her at the castle.

Lily would be a princess in another life, and so it was right up her alley to stay in a gorgeous castle and be served like royalty. We enjoyed complimentary glasses of bubbly in the hotel lounge while receiving an entertaining lesson on the history of Connemara and Abbeyglen. Then we were led up to the dining room where we feasted on an elegant 5-course meal. We slept in luxury and our Irish breakfast the next morning was absolutely scrumptious. It was bittersweet, given that our trip together was coming to an end. Watching Lily walk through the gate to get on her flight back home was heart-wrenching. I spent the rest of my time in Ireland feeling grateful for the uncharacteristically warm and sunny weather, embracing the kindness of the people, enjoying the ups and downs (literally) of cycling around such a beautiful country, and crying. I recorded videos for my daughter that I never sent, of me declaring through tears how lost I felt and how much I missed her.

Lily and me at Abbeyglen Castle

I’m pretty sure the intense sadness I felt was rooted in the grief of significant life changes. I had raised my two daughters by myself since they were 5 and 4 years old. The three of us were very close, and we had been through a lot together. They were my comfort, my joy, my home. They’re both young adult women now. We will always be close, of that I am sure, but the relationships have to evolve as my girls begin leading their own lives as adults. It’s been a lot harder for me to accept than I ever thought it would be. It almost feels like a break-up — that same sinking feeling in your stomach, that hollowing in of your chest. Everywhere I go I think about what it would be like if they were with me. Everything I see reminds me of them. It’s just constant aching. It really does feel like I’m grieving a loss — and it’s a biggie.

Grieving another loss… my career

When I began my career as a licensed social worker, I felt so fierce. I primarily worked in leadership roles, building and managing programs for nonprofits. Until I landed a role as a consultant with one of the nation’s largest anti-violence nonprofits. I was so dedicated to my career, and I thought it gave my life so much meaning. But about 14/15 years in, I had become increasingly unhappy at my job. My gross dissatisfaction followed the departure of our team’s leadership (which came on the heels of an exposè of the company’s not-so-desirable internal practices). My dedication to the job that had me working over 50 hours a week with the fierce commitment towards social impact quickly degenerated into frustration, disinterest, and even anger. I can’t stomach working for an organization that presents itself one way to the rest of the world, but is a mess internally. I gave my all to that role in my early days there because I believed in the mission, only to discover that missions are often nothing more than emotional marketing. Perhaps 15 years in the nonprofit realm has turned me into a bit of a cynic, but it’s pretty soul crushing to see this over and over in a field you joined with so much heart.

I had taken a 3-week trip to cycle the island of Taiwan that March, and while I was there I wrote my resignation letter. The night before my flight back home, I joined our team meeting where it was announced that layoffs would be happening soon. Not a surprise, as the organization had been struggling financially for a while. Still, my heart fluttered. It felt like one of those “so-meant-to-be” moments. This was it — it was all coming together. I decided to withhold my resignation in the hopes I would be chosen for a layoff because, well, you don’t get a severance if you leave on your own accord. While the layoffs happened a couple of months earlier than I had planned my departure, I was overall pleased with the severance. Ironically, the layoffs were done the day before my flight to Dublin. I was officially fun-employed.

What I wasn’t expecting was the sting of rejection that crept up on me like a bruise forming where I didn’t even fall. For many people, our careers are a defining aspect of who we are. I had worked in the anti-violence field for my entire career; if I didn’t belong there, where did I belong? Why, if I was already planning on leaving, was it bothering me that I was laid off? Maybe it was the idea that I wasn’t appreciated or valued enough to keep around. It hits a nerve that runs all the way to the darker corners of your childhood, where acceptance was so coveted but so hard to attain. Suddenly, the layoff isn’t just about a job — it’s an echo of old insecurities you thought you’d outgrown. I started questioning everything. What skills do I actually have? Do I even have any? Maybe I’m not really good at anything. I’m just not as intelligent or talented or successful as other people. I can never measure up.

#travellife

Even as I traveled, I struggled to cope with the career confusion, anxieties over self-worth, feelings of loss after leaving my loved ones and my community, and grief over selling my beloved house that was the keeper of so many memories. At the same time I am cycling through charming villages, up and over expansive mountains, experiencing different cultures and expanding my social sphere by meeting people from all over the world. I am free from debt, free from the 9–5, and free from a sugar-crazed, materially-obsessed, consumer-driven culture. I am very fortunate to be able to do this, so sometimes I feel a twinge of guilt when I’m not completely happy.

I’ve traveled to 15 countries this year, and have seen so many amazing places. Cycling the Eurovelo from the Loire, through the Rhine, and along the Danube was so much fun and I even got to crash with a dear friend in Germany for three weeks. I’ve also had a lot of alone time during my travels. That’s why I was looking forward to getting to Albania, where I would spend the winter working at a hostel. Tourism is increasing in Albania, but it still remains pretty quiet compared to other countries in Europe. It’s not uncommon for hotels and even restaurants and shops to close in certain areas during the off-season. I’ve cycled through several coastal towns that were eerily quiet, some of the shops even looked abandoned. Here in Himarë, most shops and restaurants are open, though there are still quite a few that are completely shut for the season. There are not many tourists around. There was a little spike in the week between Christmas and New Year’s, when locals gathered at the town square taking photos of their kids at the big Christmas tree and having a snack at some of the little wooden cabins by the coast. The rest of the winter has been very quiet.

Despite all the twinkling lights and holiday cheer misting the air like a wave crashing onshore, I fell into a dark hole during my first week here. Not literally, of course. The dark hole of depression. I don’t remember what triggered it, in fact I’m not even sure there was a trigger. I walked down to the beach one evening. I felt like I had been carrying so much weight all year. Tears began to flow like a gentle rain. Inside I felt empty. I thought about death. But I know that’s not an option. I text a good friend of mine for support, and walked back to the hostel with the resolve to figure out my shit.

Travel ≠ transformation

As I’ve reflected on the past year, I’ve turned inward to assess why I’ve been struggling so much. Over the last couple of weeks I have been thinking a lot about recent conversations that have inspired me to refocus. I’ve come to an awareness that the goal of becoming a better version of myself is futile. I don’t need some big transformation. I am who I need to be already. There is no better version of myself. The only thing holding me back are my own self-limiting beliefs, which end up orchestrating my attitude and behaviors. I also had been relying way too long on the toxic fallacy of ‘all positivity, all the time.’ There seems to be a trend, particularly in the wellness space, that encourages us to withhold ‘bad’ feelings. When something bad happens to you, you’re supposed to say, “everything happens for a reason.” When you feel angry or sad you’re supposed to “look on the bright side” or “think about something positive.” It gets exhausting, and it’s not sustainable. After all, did I not learn anything from Disney’s Inside Out, a movie I have seen several times thanks to my daughters? All emotions serve a purpose; it’s how you react to the emotion that matters. We’re not supposed to completely oppress or hide them. Engaging in this reflection and raising my awareness around some of these truths is going to allow me to live more authentically — I know that now.

So this year, 2026, I can just travel to travel. I accept the realities that come with it — the feel-good stuff and the hard stuff too. I say this all the time: there is a difference between ‘travel’ and ‘vacation.’ I’m not on holiday here. I’m not staying at 5-star resorts

and sipping mai tais on the beach. Travel is a lifestyle. I live on a very tight budget. It comes with its own stresses and challenges, just like life at home. I’m going to feel lonely sometimes — that’s part of it. While I want to be present as often as I can, I can also accept that I won’t feel fully present at every moment. There are going to be times when I worry about money, or when I think about the future, or miss my loved ones back home. That’s okay, and I can feel those things without pulling out my little violin (in fact, I should just toss that baby into the Ionian Sea). I also want to embrace unforgettable experiences and enjoy continual learning and moving, without having to apply some deep meaning to them. I’ve felt lost for years, but I really wasn’t. I was here all the time. I don’t need to travel to find myself. I have everything I need already, I just have to believe it, embrace it, and LIVE.

2025 may not have been as transformative or profound as I had expected it would be, but it made me realize my goal for 2026:

Stop searching.

Women Belong Outside

I am raising money for The Cairn Project, a nonprofit that promotes equity in the outdoors and helps more women get outside. Visit my ambassador page at the link below:

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