Summer is a great time to be in Brussels, as there are lots of free open air events (my TikTok video about this from years ago still does numbers!). I’ll give you an example. One day last month, I stumbled upon a huge Tomorrowland party in Grand Place - packed full of people with flags waving, a pop up bar and a live DJ. So naturally, I joined in.

But it wasn’t all about parties - I created the most content ever in July, the month Belgium celebrated its 195th birthday.

My portfolio career update

Last time, I wrote about trusting that the work compounds when I rest. July continued to show me this is true, as traffic on my travel blog increased by over a third and revenue was up too.

This was largely driven by my April post about destinations for solo female travellers, which is now the second most-visited page on the site! In July, I finally put out a new post that has been in my drafts for months: what to wear in Tulum in Mexico.

Back in June I committed to writing a chapter a week of my memoir and this is also paying off: this month I wrote four more chapters. Meanwhile, here on Substack I wrote the first in my new career break series about how to quit your life and travel the world.

I made real progress with CareerBreakTravel.com, building a booking page for my new clarity sessions offer. Then I created a free guide with 15 ways to fund your adult gap year and its own landing page, which I now link to from the homepage. What I didn’t do? Properly talk about either of these things.

What happened in July

Someone messaged me on Instagram after reading a post I published 13 years ago about yoga in Palolem, Goa. She was inspired by my story and wanted to talk about taking a year off to travel. This is the exact reason Career Break Travel exists, so it reassured me that I’m on the right path.

My eye is always on the shiny new things - I can’t help it - and I found a mini course on creating physical journals. I’m obsessed with stationery so this is tempting! Would you buy a guided journal? I have the Moonology Diary by Yasmin Boland, which I love - it’s an astrological guide to what the latest full moon, new moon or eclipse means.

I didn’t go on holiday in July but was out and about in Brussels, including watching the World Cup. For the England vs Norway game, it seems we accidentally picked the same pub as every Norwegian in the city!

The 21st July was Belgian National Day, so we briefly saw the military parades and enjoyed a day party with a great DJ - not bad for a Tuesday afternoon. Sadly I didn’t meet the King of the Belgians this time!

What I learned

My entire career has been about promoting someone else’s products, setting up media interviews for my bosses and publicising business launches. What I’ve discovered is I’m shy about doing this for myself. It’s a lot harder when it comes to your own creations, as it feels like there’s more at stake.

Over the last four months, I’ve been putting myself out there regularly on LinkedIn, posting my takes on adult gap years and getting real about the launch of my portfolio career. This is a cringe mountain I can scale. But it turns out, telling everyone “I’ve made something that you might be interested in” is my embarrassment Everest.

So here goes. If you’re considering a career break to travel, but worried it’ll impact your finances and career prospects, I now offer 1:1 clarity sessions. In a 45-minute video call, you’ll get my first-hand advice as someone who has done it. The first 10 sessions are $95 (normally $150) - book yours here.

Looking ahead

In August, I commit to properly posting on LinkedIn about my new freebie guide and clarity sessions. I’ll publish my solo female travel guide to Italy blog post, postponed from July. And I’ll keep up the momentum with writing my memoir chapters - not long until it’s finished!

We’re going to a beach festival in Belgium, then to the South of France for a week. I’m also planning a trip to Marrakech in Morocco later in the year - my first time there (send me your tips!).

Overall, I’m taking a deep breath and hoping that promoting what I’ve built pays off. If it does, then it will have been an epic month.

I hope you’re having a great summer too! Are you in the early stages of launching your own new thing? Tell me about it in the comments ❤️

This post contains affiliate links. If you buy through one I may earn a small commission, at no cost to you - I only recommend things I use and love.

When I first had the idea of taking a career break to travel, my life was going well.

I had a great job, a fun social life and a cosy flat in London. So I did what sensible people do: I waited. Every time, I talked myself out of it. This went on for two years - until I burned out.

Sometimes it’s the things we want the most that we delay the longest.

The problem is, there’s no bat signal telling you that now is the moment to walk away from the life you’ve built. And if there’s never a good time, how do you know when to go?

The idea is everywhere now

It feels like everyone is talking about career breaks. In May, the New York Post reported on how Gen Z professionals are swapping the corporate grind for “mini-retirements” to keep their sanity.

And it isn’t only the young. In March, I wrote here about the Great Millennial Career Crisis, while a Reader’s Digest piece about adult gap years said “employees in their late 40s and 50s are jumping on the trend too.”

Almost all of these gap year stories start from a breaking point, such as a layoff, a bereavement or burnout. It’s certainly true of my own, which began after the end of a long-term relationship.

DJ DiDonna, author of a new book called Big Time Off, says sabbaticals give us time to be present in moments of difficulty, celebration or transition. But, he says, it’s better to avoid waiting for a crisis before you take off.

The reasons to wait

Even after heartbreak and burnout, I invented reason after reason why it wasn’t a good time to go travelling. Work was a big one.

There’s the team that depends on you and the career momentum you could lose. At work there’s always something: a project to finish or a promotion that’s just around the corner. The more established you are in your career, the harder it can feel to leave.

Maybe you talk yourself out of it because you feel too old. At thirty-three I thought I was way past the right age for hostel dorms and overnight buses.

Then come the milestones: friends’ weddings, baby showers and that house deposit to save up for. We never think we have enough money to quit our job and travel. And who are we without our job anyway? (I will explore these in more depth later on in this series.)

This year especially, there are layoffs and the impact of AI on the jobs market to worry about.

Underneath it all is the idea that our life is good enough and we should be grateful for that, rather than risking it all. Which is why we can end up at breaking point before doing something about it.

Why we stay stuck

So why is it that we’re so willing to find reasons to stay stuck?

Behavioural economists call it ‘present bias.’ We give stronger weight to our current situation rather than what might happen to our future selves.

It turns out that the question “where do you see yourself ten years from now?” is hard to answer because of how our brains are wired.

Hal Hershfield, a psychologist at UCLA Anderson, asked people to picture themselves a decade from now. He found their brain activity imagining their future selves was most similar to when they thought about someone else entirely - like a stranger.

This means our current pain and fears are far more potent than the idea that a future version of us could be happier.

The cost of waiting

The issue with all this waiting is that if you leave it too long, there could be a breaking point that decides it for you.

In my case, I was burnt out, anxious and miserable. One evening, my back started spasming so painfully I had to take myself to hospital. I couldn’t walk properly for four days.

Soon afterwards, I talked to a coach who helped me answer one question honestly: stay or go?

Finally, I admitted to him - and myself - that going travelling was what I really wanted. He helped me come up with a three-step plan. Give notice on my flat, resign from my job and then book the round-the-world trip I had dreamed of for years. It sounds silly writing it down like this, but he made it seem so easy.

It took someone else to help me get outside my head, untangle all the fears and doubts holding me back. This is why I have now opened a small number of career break clarity sessions at a founding price - you can book one here.

So when is the right time?

DiDonna categorises the events prompting people to take a sabbatical into positive, negative and neutral catalysts.

The neutral catalyst is the only proactive rather than reactive one: you can create it yourself. In practice, it’s a date in the diary that you don’t move - like the step-by-step plan I made with the coach. A commitment to yourself.

If you’re waiting for a sign, you may already have it. Aches and pains. A lingering dissatisfaction with your life, no matter how good it looks on the surface. Tiredness that weekends and short vacations can’t fix.

When I started going on small trips abroad by myself, I would meet people living out of a backpack and be unreasonably jealous. They’re so lucky, I would think. Why can’t that be me?

It took me a long time to realise that it could be me. Too long.

In DiDonna’s 2022 study of 50 professionals who took extended time off, every single person wished they had gone sooner.

You will never feel ready

So if you’re trying to decide when is a good moment to quit your whole life and travel the world, remember there is no ‘right’ time. Like all big decisions in life, you will never feel ready. You will always find a reason to talk yourself out of it.

Don’t wait for two years like I did, burn out and finally board the plane an anxious wreck. Set a date. Go while things are still good.

Consider this your bat signal.

Mid-June, I headed home to London for a long-overdue visit. It was fun to watch the World Cup opening ceremony in a pub with a pint, surrounded by football fans. I spent the rest of my trip having a leisurely lunch in the sunshine with family, dancing at a day party and exploring my favourite city.

By the time I got back to Brussels, I was completely wiped out. It took me a couple of days to get back into work.

As it turned out, everything didn’t stop just because I did.

My portfolio career is taking shape

Last month, I wrote about my tendency to build several things at once, a habit from my over-functioning corporate years that I’m unlearning after burnout. In June it was about less effort and more patience.

After I returned from London, I managed to publish one post on my solo travel blog, about what to wear in Portugal this summer. By the end of June, it had earned $44 from people buying the items I recommend. It’s not going to pay my rent yet, but I’m happy. After a tough start to the year, traffic is finally increasing again - it’s up 25%. A post I published in April on the best destinations for first-time solo female travellers is now in my top 10 most-visited pages. It feels good to know my writing is helping people, even if I can’t publish as many posts as I’d like.

CareerBreakTravel.com remains the most experimental part of my portfolio. I built the site on Systeme.io using templates from Hayley’s Digital Hub, so I’m not starting from a blank page every time I want to try something new. For now, I added a new post on how to afford to travel full time without being rich.

Act 1 of my memoir, three chapters, is now fully written. I’m sure I’ll keep editing, but I’m writing a chapter a week and the pace is working. I have a feeling this book will be the linchpin that pulls all my other work together.

What happened in June

My personal brand building is going well. I now have a second article published in Business Insider, about why I moved to Brussels and what surprised me most about living here. I updated all my social bios to say clearly that I help people take a career break to travel and knew I then needed to back that up with content.

So I experimented with carousel posts on Instagram and TikTok to tell the story of my career break to travel. I’m so pleased with the response - my TikTok post got almost 7,000 views and I’ve gained 18 new followers. This is an important sign to me that I’m moving in the right direction - even if it feels a bit ‘fake it until you make it.’

On a personal note, in June I went to see British comedian Emmanuel Sonubi perform in Brussels. He had the whole room laughing with stories about his life, including how he almost died. What stayed with me was how openly he spoke about those dark times, and how many years it took him to feel comfortable sharing something so vulnerable on stage.

What I learned

These small successes in June proved that consistency doesn’t need to look like constant output. My energy fluctuates sometimes and I don’t need to feel guilty about it. The work compounds in the background the whole time.

Being more intentional with what I create and setting realistic goals is what helps me keep momentum without burning out.

I still get distracted by the next new thing. As a creative person that’s part of who I am. But I trust now that not everything depends on what I do in the moment.

Looking ahead

As part of scaling back my ambitions, I’m building on what’s already working. That means two blog posts in July: another ‘what to wear’ guide, this time for Tulum in Mexico, and a solo female travel guide to Italy.

I’m working out what needs to happen to turn CareerBreakTravel.com into a resource hub that helps people - I have a lot of ideas to be organised into a plan.

Aside from this and continuing the momentum on my memoir, my goal is to feel positive, happy and healthy.

I hope you had a great June too ❤️

This post contains affiliate links. If you buy through one I may earn a small commission, at no cost to you - I only recommend things I use and love.

For anyone building a coaching or digital products business, Hayley is currently running a 30% sale on her online funnel templates.

“Relish these times,” I write in my diary. “I am in paradise.”

I look out at the beach and see Steeve swaying on a rope swing. We arrived here in Thailand from Malaysia a few days ago. It’s one of the first countries I travelled solo - and now I get to show him my favourite places. I return to my journalling.

“I am living my dream,” I continue. “We don’t know what will happen, we just have to follow the path that is right for us.”

My words look more reassuring than I feel. I try to focus on my future plans and what I’ll do when I get home to the UK.

Sparkling nights in Koh Samui

When we first arrived in Thailand, we did a Thai cooking class in Ko Lanta. Moving to the island of Koh Samui, we rented a motorbike and saw elephants bathing under a waterfall. That evening, we ate a candlelit dinner on the beach and swam in the sea, as plankton sparkled like magic dust around us.

It hasn’t all gone perfectly. The weather has been rainy. I was in a bad mood during the cooking lesson because I was tired. When I apologised afterwards and burst into tears, he wrapped his arms around me and made me laugh to cheer me up. Meanwhile, he’s stressed about flying to Japan when we get to Bangkok - and how he will afford travelling there alone.

But during our last day on Koh Samui, while walking to the beach, I told him what an amazing time I’ve had since we met.

“This has been the best six months of my life,” he replied.

Secrets of a full moon

Now we’re here on Koh Phangan, staying at The Sanctuary, a beachside resort that became a second home during my solo travels. I recognise staff and long-term residents from when I was last here a year ago, who bounce up to welcome me back.

Steeve and I go to the famous Full Moon Party, slurping from buckets through straws, as the music booms from giant speakers and the World Cup final plays on a big screen. At 7am, we’re still there, now dancing in the daylight.

One day, after hiking up to local viewpoints, we spot a sign at The Sanctuary announcing a TED Talk about living your dreams. It’s by a guy named Abria Joseph who’s going to Europe next week to record this TED Talk for real - making his own dreams come true. We sit at the front to hear what he has to say. It’s raining again, but we don’t care.

“The secret is, when someone you love sees your vision as clearly as you, the universe conspires to help make it happen,” he says.

We look at each other - we’ve had the same vision for months now. On Penang Hill, we locked it to a fence and threw away the key. Could it actually happen? That we never need to say goodbye?

We return to our lovely little hut in the middle of the jungle garden. No neighbours, a hammock and an outside bathroom that the mosquitoes love to visit.

When he says he wants to move here permanently with me, I think he’s joking, until I see tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave this jungle paradise where we can spend all day on the beach. And he doesn’t want to leave me either.

It’s already over in Bangkok

On the journey to Bangkok, we’re subdued, feeling like our travels as a couple are already over. Bangkok is just a city after all - it cannot compare to island life.

We check into a nice hotel. He reluctantly books his flight to Japan. Dinner is street food and supermarket salads.

On our last full day together, we walk to a park 30 minutes away, through the hot stench of the streets. We walk around the lake holding hands in the rain. At one point, the Thai national anthem plays on loudspeakers and everyone stops what they’re doing out of respect. We sit on a bench and take selfies.

“My travels won’t seem as beautiful without you,” he says.

A surprise extra day

In the morning, we wake up clinging to each other.

He has made a decision: he won’t take the flight to Tokyo tonight. Instead, he books a flight to Laos, leaving tomorrow morning. Almost the same time as my flight home.

Buoyed by getting to spend another night together, we return to the park. This time, we hire a swan-shaped pedalo and laugh as we pedal as fast as we can. A crowd of office workers is doing a synchronised aerobics session nearby. On our way back to the hotel, we’re caught in heavy rain and duck into the supermarket, still giggling.

The next morning, we’re up so early that there’s no time to think. We need to check out of the hotel and check in to our respective flights. On the sky train to the airport, we appreciate the last few precious moments of our trip. At the airport, we go through security together and to his gate.

We have 30 minutes to say goodbye. We spend half of it in tears and half joking about meeting up soon in South Africa or South America. Somewhere in the world.

As I watch his plane leave, then board my flight home, I hope it’s a promise.

Thanks for reading this latest installment! It’s been fun to re-read my diaries and dig out the photos, bringing back all these memories.

May kicked off with a fun open-air party here in Brussels. A giant guinguette has opened next to Gare du Nord and they hosted a huge DJ party. It was magic to dance as planes flew overhead and the sun set behind the silver office towers.

I was lucky I could go to this as only a few days earlier I could barely walk.

How I launched my portfolio career

Since I quit my corporate job and went self-employed, I've been building a few things at once which is both my superpower and my problem.

I’ve been running my solo travel blog, BackpackingBella.com, since I went on my adult gap year. My top post right now is about What to Wear to Niagara Falls - there’s a lovely photo of me drenched after the boat ride that sums it up nicely. As I mentioned in my first month update, I have (too) many ideas for new posts. The next one will be about what to wear in Portugal this summer - let me know if you’d find that useful!

My new site, CareerBreakTravel.com, is finding its feet and I’m continuing my training to be a certified travel coach. I have lots of resources in mind to help people considering a career break to travel. Join the waitlist to be the first in line!

I’m also writing a memoir about my solo round-the-world journey and will publish it as a book. What has helped me get the structure right is Wendy Dale’s book The Memoir Engineering System: Make Your First Draft Your Final Draft.

As you can tell, I suffer from shiny new object syndrome, so all of this is a balancing act that I don’t always get right.

People have told me it can take five years to break even when you start your own business, which is scary. I’m managing my income, expenses and taxes with Accountable, so I don’t need an expensive accountant. It’s showing me that I spent more than I earned last month, so the pressure is on!

What happened in May

In the first days of May, I threw my back out. This is unfortunately a long-term ailment that strikes when I overdo things. I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t walk, so I had to take an Uber to fulfil my Vinted orders (check out my profile selling pre-loved clothing for tall women here). The rest of the week I was mostly horizontal with a USB heat pad to ease my muscles, unable to focus on much.

I did get a second article commissioned by Business Insider. This one will be about my move to Brussels and how it defied my expectations - what it’s like to build a life somewhere few people romanticise and why that’s part of its charm.

My back was better in time for the week’s holiday my partner and I planned mid-month in Ibiza. We took the ferry up the coast from Ibiza Town to Es Cana, a quieter part of the island, where we found a great hippie market and enjoyed the wonderful Namaste opening party at Las Dalias.

By the end of the month I confirmed the full structure of my memoir - how many chapters and what will happen in each one. A big part of the challenge is deciding what to leave out. After years of having all the material and none of the architecture, I finally have a complete blueprint for the book.

What I learned

I have to keep reminding myself of my lesson from April - that it’s not healthy for the post-burnout version of me to judge my days by how productive I am.

Ticking things off a list gives me immense satisfaction, but it took a back injury to show me that I can’t keep pushing through all the time. Rest is as important as action.

I’m one of life’s ideas people and, while this is great, I’m simply not able to complete everything I want. Sometimes it’s more important to finish the long-term projects than to start yet another new task.

Perfectionism and worry about money lead me to constantly tinker with things I’ve already created. But spending time on this at the expense of the memoir is the wrong trade-off. My book won’t write or publish itself and no amount of blog posts will change that.

Looking ahead

Other than delivering the Business Insider piece, June is about making real progress on the memoir. I’m committing to finishing one chapter a week.

This weekend I’m going home for a long weekend in London to enjoy the city in the summer and catch up with my family. Later on in the month, there will be a weekend with friends deep in the Belgian Ardennes forests.

Being patient with myself is the hardest part. But if I can stay healthy, maintain my focus and keep on having fun, then June will be an epic month.

I’m writing this from the front porch of a beach hut in Malaysia. He’s sleeping inside. In front of me, waves lap up against the shore, fizzing and crashing onto the pure white sand. The sun is peeking over the horizon to start the day, its light filtering through the palm fronds.

But I’m done with travelling.

Stand by me?

I’ve lost count of the number of airports I’ve transited through over the last year. Though Singapore was one of the best with its huge waterfall and forest displays. We were there a few days ago - the Frenchman and me - after our beautiful time in Bali.

On our first day in the city, we explored Bugis Street Market and I laughed as Steeve tasted durian fruit with a grimace. I’d already tried it during my solo travels, so I knew it takes some getting used to.

We stayed with my friend Jenny, who I met in Thailand a year ago. The three of us hung out on the rooftop pool of her condominium until a neighbour came to complain that we were laughing too much.

Over the week, we went sightseeing in Singapore while Jenny was at work. At one point over lunch, we started bickering and it made me feel sad. Our trip had been so wonderful until now. We went quiet for a moment.

Out of nowhere he told me

Read more

I’m now a month into being a part-time solopreneur. Starting something new after a long period of burnout means doing it differently. My old operating system isn’t compatible with this new life.

What my portfolio career looks like

People are asking me what I’m doing now I’m self-employed but it’s hard to describe in a quick sentence. My portfolio career comprises a few areas.

There’s my travel blog, BackpackingBella.com. I’ve also launched a new site, CareerBreakTravel.com which, as the name suggests, is designed to help people considering taking a career break to travel. As part of this, I’m training to be a certified travel coach. This isn’t like a travel advisor who books your flights, but someone who helps you get clear on what you want from your trip. The kind of person I wish I could have spoken to when I was busy talking myself out of exploring the world.

Finally, for more years than I care to admit, I’ve been saying I’ll write and publish a book. A memoir about everything I experienced and learned on my solo travels. I’m a lot closer to finalizing the structure.

What happened in April

Since I posted that first LinkedIn post, I’ve been steadily building my new personal brand. As well as securing an article in Business Insider, a Substack article I wrote about my adult gap year was spotted and republished by Australian women’s digital media company Mamamia. For anyone creating something from scratch, this kind of external validation matters more than you expect.

I repositioned my travel blog to focus more on solo female travel, which represents who I’m really speaking to - and who I was when I first fell in love with travel. I’ve also hit 700 subscribers on Substack, so thank you for reading!

On a personal note, April was also a great month. My brother visited me in Brussels over the Easter weekend. On the sunny bank holiday Monday I went to the beach and saw seals from the local Sea Life centre being released into the sea.

My birthday was going to be a low-key affair until friends organised a wonderful celebration at their place, then my boyfriend booked a surprise birthday dinner at a nice restaurant.

A few days later, I went with friends to the Floralia display in Brussels where a million bulbs are planted of over 400 types of tulips.

What I learned

I need to tone down my ambitions. I’d planned to write eight new blog posts for my travel blog in April and only wrote two. While my personal life was rich, my energy fluctuated and I needed to rest a lot.

Discipline is another big one for me. My best work happens when I have a clear focus and a framework to work within. Instead of large targets, I need smaller, scheduled commitments.

The reality is, I keep a monthly report of my ‘wins’ and learnings - but no one needs it except me. I no longer have the structure of corporate life - no management team waiting for my updates and results. Now I set my goals and I’m the one deciding whether I met them. This is what freedom feels like.

The post-burnout me can’t keep falling back on productivity as the scorecard for whether I had a good day. It needs to be a balance between my work and my wellbeing.

Looking ahead

In May I’ll build on what worked, but with rhythms and routines to protect the times of day I operate best.

I will start writing the final manuscript of my memoir. Publish one blog post a week. And keep this momentum going with my personal brand.

If I feel relaxed and healthy by the end of May, it will have been an epic month.

And after the year I’ve had, that’s everything.

“You can’t imagine how much I want to be there with you,” he messages me one afternoon. “The countdown is killing me.”

I’m back in Bali, staying at my favourite spot. A year ago, during a manifestation workshop here in Ubud, I wrote about the kind of romantic partner I wanted to attract into my life. Someone who will fly from another country to be with me, I wrote. Someone like Steeve - the Frenchman I met while waiting for a bus in New Zealand.

In a few days he will fly over from Australia, where he’s been backpacking up the east coast. He’s due to arrive on my birthday.

“Are you doing voodoo things to me?” he continues. “I think about you all the time.”

The image of me casting a spell over a tiny Steeve doll makes me laugh. But between us, I’m sure I’m the one under some kind of spell.

I reply that I’m feeling the same way. In fact I’m counting the days and hours, trying to ignore the tightness in my stomach. What if he arrives and realises he’s made a mistake?

The reunion

On the day of my birthday I relocate to Seminyak, with its fancy bars and restaurants, and check into our hotel.

Rose petals in the shape of a massive pink heart decorate the bed, while towels fashioned into a pair of swans kiss each other. It’s almost too perfect.

An hour later I’m at the airport. People stroll through the arrivals gate, rolling their luggage. I feel like I’m going to burst with anticipation.

Eventually Steeve appears. He comes over to give me a hug and a peck on the cheek. There are no dramatic speeches, only polite hellos. In the taxi he makes small talk about something he left behind at a hostel in Cairns. I must have misunderstood something - maybe we’re just travel buddies after all.

Read more

The last few months have been a lot. After twenty years in various corporate roles (plus my adult gap year), I quit my job and announced my new freelance status to everyone on LinkedIn. The anxiety of that is settling now and I’m slowly easing into this new chapter.

This birthday has me thinking about where I was this time a few years ago. Well, quite a few years ago now.

A midnight celebration

It was 2013. I’d been travelling alone for a couple of months and had just arrived back at my favourite hostel in Kuala Lumpur after a side trip to Borneo to see the orangutans. It was the eve of my birthday and my last night in Malaysia as I had a flight to Bali the next day.

I realised I’d probably have to spend my birthday alone, as I didn’t know anyone. While my first instinct was to feel sad and lonely, I decided to reframe it.

I was finally on the round-the-world trip I’d dreamt of for so long. I’d just qualified as a scuba diver, against the odds. I was having the greatest adventure of my life. So with all that in mind it was already the best birthday ever. I had more than enough to celebrate - I could at least go out for a cocktail.

“You should go to SkyBar,” said the hostel manager. “It’s at the top of Traders Hotel.” He kindly booked me a table so I could treat myself to a birthday cocktail at midnight - the moment I would turn 34.

In the end, I wasn’t alone. Far from it.

When the others in my hostel dorm learned it was my birthday, they insisted we all go for dinner at a nearby restaurant. I was so touched that they wanted to mark the occasion when we’d only just met. Then the restaurant staff surprised me with a cake and a song.

The true gift came when Kate and Tiffany arrived - two girls I’d met during my Malaysia trip . They’d flown in from Borneo to celebrate with me.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

We walked to the Traders Hotel and took the elevator to the 33rd floor, entering the glamorous SkyBar, with its luxurious pool and floor-to-ceiling windows.

As the clock struck midnight, we raised our glasses. Now I was a year older - at least in Malaysian time. But I couldn’t stay out too late. I had an early flight to catch.

Birthday in Bali

The next morning - my actual birthday - I flew to Bali alone. From the airport, I took a taxi to Ubud, the same place Elizabeth Gilbert went to in Eat, Pray, Love.

We passed ornately designed family temples with intricate stonemasonry and decorated statues of Hindu deities. Small offerings wrapped in palm leaves dotted the pavements. Boys ran along the road holding kites with ribbons streaming behind them.

We pulled into the guesthouse. A tranquil, leafy garden surrounded a small pond. Statuettes wrapped in checked fabric were adorned with flowers. The hypnotic tinkling of the traditional Balinese gamelan instrument and delicate fragrance of frangipani flowers floated in the air. It was divine and exactly what I needed.

The host opened the French windows to my room. The stylish bedroom was filled with feminine furnishings and a private, open-air bathroom with an ornate framed mirror and a large, luxurious bath.

Suddenly, I felt like I was at home. Any remaining anxiety melted away. Smiling, I stretched out on my bed, taking it all in.

That evening, I took myself on a solo birthday date. I put on my make-up and a backless red dress I’d bought at Kuala Lumpur Central Market and went for dinner at a nearby restaurant. Single and alone, yet perfectly content.

I felt like I was in my own version of Eat, Pray, Love. It crossed my mind that maybe, like Elizabeth Gilbert, I would be swept off my feet here by a gorgeous Brazilian man.

Reflections from Brussels

This year, I’m no longer living out of a backpack. I still have that red dress but Belgium in April isn’t quite warm enough. I won’t need to go on a solo dinner date for one, as my boyfriend will come out to celebrate with me. Maybe there will be surprise guests again - who knows.

That 34-year-old version of me dining alone in Bali is way calmer than I’ve felt recently. She was out there in the world, all by herself, and loving every minute. If she can do that then I can handle this latest change.

Own it, she’d say. Treat yourself as well as you deserve. The best gift you can give yourself is to celebrate how far you’ve come.

I’d smile back and tell her: you do meet a handsome man on your travels - but he’s French, not Brazilian.

And - believe it or not - you will bring him back to Bali with you in a year’s time.

Thanks so much for reading, it means so much to me. Next week I will tell you what happened in Bali with the French man! Until then, take care everyone 💕

A broken promise

Parents taught their children that getting a university degree and a good job would deliver happiness and success. But in many ways this promise doesn’t hold true any more.

This formula for a happy life was derailed by the global financial crisis. Then, a decade later, the pandemic led to hiring freezes and mass layoffs. What was once a stable path has become anything but, leaving many people feeling deeply unfulfilled.

On top of that, a cost-of-living crisis has seen the average age of first-time homebuyers in the US soar to an all-time high of 40. The milestones society has long pushed people towards, like buying a home and starting a family, now feel increasingly out of reach.

It’s the slow realisation that you can do everything right and still feel disillusioned that is, for a lot of people, where the crisis begins. I know this feeling well.

Self-blame and shame

Like today’s generation in crisis, I blamed myself for hitting my 30s and not yet achieving major life milestones, as if it meant I was a failure.

When a change of job didn’t improve how I felt about the career I once loved, it sent me into depression and disconnection. Eventually it impacted all areas of my life and interests that once energised me lost their appeal. I felt ashamed that I couldn’t get myself out of this funk.

Sometimes you find the path you’re on - no matter how outwardly successful - no longer leads to satisfaction. And working harder won’t solve it.

When ambition stops working for you

After a while, pouring yourself into something that doesn’t give back becomes exhausting.

Women in particular are suffering what’s been called ‘promotion burnout.’ More than half surveyed this month said they felt a drop in career motivation over the past two years. Climbing the career ladder no longer feels worth it.

When we push against a fundamentally wrong path for long enough, we can burn out. Not always a dramatic collapse but the slow, grinding kind, where fatigue becomes so ordinary it starts feeling like a personality trait. The longer we ignore these signals, the louder they become.

The unexpected gift of losing your way

What looks like a career crisis is often an identity crisis in disguise. Who are we when we’re no longer defined by our job?

The job title, the salary, the LinkedIn profile - for many ambitious people, these professional achievements answer the question: who am I? When that structure starts to crack, it can feel catastrophic. But that crack is where the light gets in.

Stripping away an identity that no longer fits is how you rediscover what was underneath it all along. The version of success and happiness that you define.

That’s why this crisis, as destabilising as it feels, could be the best thing that ever happened to you. It’s what pushed me to take an adult gap year to travel the world and experience things I could never have imagined.

What to do if you’re experiencing a career crisis

If you feel like you’re in a personal career crisis, start by releasing the shame. Distinguish between what you can and cannot control. Be honest with yourself about what you really want - even if it feels impossible right now.

Whether it’s a professional pivot or a career break like I took, don’t discount the skills and knowledge you’ve acquired. That foundation goes with you and could lead you somewhere much more inspiring.

If change feels scary, remember the world has changed since we were in our 20s and your priorities will have evolved too. As someone once said to me: if you’re unhappy where you are, a leap in a new direction will feel better than clinging on.

Letting go and rediscovering joy in other parts of your life - your relationships, interests and, in my case, travel - could be the making of you.

A redefined life

Asking yourself is this really it? is not a failure but a sign that you’re waking up.

The creeping sense that the life you built no longer fits is an invitation to explore this question more deeply.

Is this really it - and what do I actually want instead?

That’s where your real story begins.

Are you experiencing your own version of the Great Millennial Career Crisis? Or have you already found your way through one? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

I’m lying on my bunk bed at the hostel when my phone lights up. It’s him.

“It’s too late,” he writes. “I’m attached to you now.”

He’s French, so his English isn’t perfect - yet he finds the cheekiest, most romantic ways to express himself.

I met him two weeks ago at a bus stop. We were waiting to be picked up for a group tour of New Zealand’s South Island. The bus was delayed, so we got talking - and didn’t stop for the rest of the trip. We saw vivid blue lakes, rich pine forests and silver snow-topped mountains.

It was like a dream. Until we went our separate ways.

“I will never forget you,” he texts me. I returned to Auckland, where I’ve been staying long-term at this hostel, while he explores the North Island this time. “The glowworms in the Waitomo Caves reminded me of our first evening together. Bisous bisous, darling.”

I picture him sitting in the tour boat, floating along as thousands of tiny turquoise lights twinkle on the cave walls around him. Like the glowworms that lit our dark path through the bushes behind the beach in Abel Tasman. That moment when I grabbed his hand and he kissed me.

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I had other worries too. Getting sick somewhere remote, having all my money stolen, or losing my passport and not being able to fly home. And - if I got back in one piece - how to explain this extended gap to recruiters.

Eventually, I took the plunge and spent part of my savings on round-the-world flights, mapping out a 12-month itinerary. Concerned friends and family asked why I was ‘running away,’ but by then I knew it was something I needed to do. So, I packed a large backpack and boarded the plane to India by myself.

I had no idea that this year out would end up rerouting my life entirely.

The adult gap year is having a moment

The Associated Press recently ran a major piece on the growing number of adults taking extended career breaks, otherwise known as an ‘adult gap year’. Plenty of mid-career professionals and empty-nesters are now, it says: “creating space for a reset, whether mental, physical or spiritual.” It’s not just for students with nothing to lose.

The story was picked up by international news outlets across the board. It follows Business Insider’s series last month on adults taking gap years, which featured my own story. The fact that prestigious outlets are writing about this idea tells you how mainstream it has become.

The trend is being reflected in book publishing too. Author and Substacker Emma Gannon has just released A Year of Nothing, her memoir about stepping back from a successful career to heal from burnout. The conversation it has sparked has resonated with many people.

The reasons people leave

Research conducted last year revealed that nearly 4.9 million working people in the UK have taken a sabbatical. Almost half simply needed a break from work, while a third wanted time to reevaluate their life. For the rest it was about finding the right time to travel, such as before settling down to start a family.

It’s not just in the UK. In 2022, LinkedIn found that almost two thirds of professionals globally have taken a career break and over a third would be interested in one.

This prompted LinkedIn to allow users to list a career break instead of a new position in the ‘Experience’ section of their profile. You can choose from options including travel, health and wellbeing, relocation and, of course, a gap year. Over a million people have already used it.

What happened on my year away

This month exactly 13 years ago, I had just arrived in Goa and was enjoying sunrise yoga classes on the beach. There, I discovered how to be alone again and unwind from the anxiety of my London life.

Every country on my year-long route taught me something new. In Malaysia, I overcame a fear of scuba diving and earned my PADI Open Water qualification. On my 34th birthday I arrived in Bali, where I learned to treat myself with kindness. My itinerary took me to New Zealand, where I saw volcanoes on the way to my temp job, and to Chile, where I spotted shooting stars over the arid Atacama Desert.

These months of navigating new countries alone and making decisions by myself made me stronger and more confident.

But it wasn’t all perfect. Along the way, some of the things I worried about did go wrong - as well as other things I didn’t anticipate.

The reality versus the fear

Whether I was the oldest backpacker on the block didn’t seem so important once I was on the road.

While there were plenty of people younger than me, I met some my own age and others who were a decade or more older. When you meet people travelling in the same way as you, there’s a natural affinity and feeling of shared experiences, no matter your age.

One day, about a month in to my trip, some of my worst case scenarios happened at once. I arrived on a Thai island to find the airline had put my backpack on the wrong flight. All I had to wear was the jeans and t-shirt I was standing in - I didn’t even have a towel or a toothbrush until my luggage was returned to me a day later. To top things off, that night I barely slept thanks to a bad case of food poisoning.

Towards the end of my journey around the world, in Rio de Janeiro, I almost found myself homeless. I’d failed to extend my hostel stay in time, on what turned out to be one of the busiest holiday weekends of the year.

But I was able to handle all of this and come out unscathed. When dealing with these situations far from home, you realise how capable and resourceful you are in the face of adversity.

How it ended

In the end, my adult gap year led me to relocate to a country I would have never imagined.

While in New Zealand I met a guy from Belgium and we fell for each other. Since I no longer had a job or an apartment in London, when we finished our respective travels, I decided to move to Brussels.

That gap in my CV that I was so concerned about? Employers didn’t seem to care. In fact, it was a positive talking point in interviews, as they could see what a rewarding experience it had been for me.

As it turned out, that was the least of my worries. Once in Belgium, I quickly realised I’d have to pivot to a new industry and understand the complexities of Belgian compensation and benefits to even have a basic salary package discussion. Plus, I didn’t speak any of the national languages.

One recruitment agent bluntly informed me that I’d struggle to find work here. But my gap year had filled me with conviction that I could deal with anything. Four job offers later, I secured a full-time communications position for a great organisation and settled in well immediately.

Emma Gannon puts it well in her recent Substack post, Can we normalise the “career break”?, when she writes:

“…if you take time away, your career in fact does not fall away and disappear. Instead, you only come back stronger.”

Taking an adult gap year means you return knowing yourself better, which can be the most professionally useful thing of all.

What I’d tell my pre-gap year self

If I could tell my anxious pre-gap year self anything, I’d say it’s good to be prepared. Take those precautions, because things will go wrong - but way less than you think. Everything is going to be OK. More than OK. It will be the best year of your life.

You are not too old. You haven’t lost your passion for everything. You’re only tired because you’re no longer on the right path and it’s time to step off it for a while. To rediscover what brings you joy. This is an opportunity, not a failure.

The career break I took to get a new perspective on life ended up giving me a completely new one. I returned from my adult gap year a calmer, more resilient person who didn’t blink twice at relocating to a new country. Ready for whatever comes next - curveballs and all.

13th February, Abel Tasman

I look out of the window as the bus pulls away, watching the blue skies of Abel Tasman National Park fade to a cloudy grey. The speakers are playing that old 10cc song, “I’m Not In Love.”

I nod along. After all, I’ve only known this guy for a day.

I met him in Abel Tasman, where the beaches, sea and forests look too vivid to be real. It was the first stop on a bus tour of the South Island. We were both in awe of New Zealand’s beauty and uniqueness. Like the Split Apple Rock we saw on the boat trip, sliced in half and torn in different directions.

On the long hike back to our accommodation, he confided in me: personal stories he didn’t want to tell the group. Later, someone jokingly asked if we’d hooked up. By then, it felt inevitable. He gave me a goodnight kiss in the dorm while the others were sleeping.

Now I’m heading south on the bus, alone this time. It’s like a whirlwind has hit and left me dizzy. But it was my decision to move on. Today he’s kayaking with new friends from the group, while I already have a kayaking trip booked somewhere else. I don’t want to put my plans on hold for someone I just met.

I’m not in love, so don’t forget it

It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.

14th February, Greymouth

Greymouth is the right name for this place. The sky is thick and cloudy, the air is hazy with raindrops and the streets are empty.

I’m on my way back from the supermarket, bag of groceries in my hand, when he texts me. Happy Valentine’s Day, it says. Miss you already. They saw seals and penguins on their kayaking tour. I’m happy for him and a bit jealous. Should I have stayed?

“Claire! Are you coming to the Valentine’s party tonight?” It’s one of the girls from the group as I arrive at the hostel. Yes, I reply. It will take my mind off things.

Back in my room, my former boss phones with more details about a job offer. I’m on this tour for a break after temping for a few months in Auckland, a city I love. If I accept this offer, it means I can stay here in New Zealand permanently, working for a company I really like.

“I’ll think about it and come back to you,” I tell her. I can’t think straight right now.

“OK, but I will need your answer tomorrow.”

I ask the universe to give me a sign.

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This is what we’ve been taught to do when we’re burnt out. Catch up on sleep. Try not to think about work. Then Monday morning arrives and you’re still no better.

There’s a difference between survival and revival. I didn’t understand it until I left London on a career break to travel. It took seven countries to teach me what my home city never could: what real rest feels like when your body finally believes it’s safe.

1. Thailand - Rest starts with security

It can be tempting to power through difficult times until it becomes a way of life. Then even when you stop, your nervous system remains braced because it doesn’t trust that the demand on it is over.

A trip to Thailand taught me something different. At The Sanctuary on Koh Phangan, I woke each morning to the sound of waves and birdsong. I walked the jungle paths to yoga classes and meditation sessions. I ate well, slept soundly and met people for whom this was their daily routine.

That’s when I learned that genuine rest doesn’t happen just because you lie down. You can’t think your way into feeling safe - your body needs proof. And you can’t get that in the environment that’s threatening your wellbeing. This is why travel is so powerful.

2. India - Rest isn’t always static, it flows

We usually think rest means stillness, but it can look like gentle motion and creativity.

In Goa, I discovered a different kind of relaxation. I joined a course to learn the slow, controlled movements of qi gong and tai chi. I browsed the colourful handcrafted goods at the markets, sipped cool water from fresh coconuts, and danced to improvised music at sunset beach parties. My body was moving, my mind was engaged and my senses were alive.

Pleasure without productivity takes the pressure off your anxious mind. Following your instincts and reconnecting with play make you feel alive and soulfully aligned.

3. Malaysia - Rest means trusting yourself again

When you’re burnt out, your inner critic becomes relentless. You second-guess your decisions and start to doubt yourself. All this takes its toll on your nervous system.

In Malaysia, I tried scuba diving despite a previous failed attempt. At first I panicked, until the instructor pointed out I was overthinking it. Eventually, I learned to trust myself and breathe. I discovered the underwater world is the dreamiest place to drift and let go of your worries.

Genuine rest requires reclaiming your power and believing in yourself again. Little by little, these moments will allow your body to feel safe enough to rest.

4. Bali - Rest is an act of self-love

The harshest voice when you’re burnt out is often your own. You judge your need for rest as weakness, your exhaustion as failure.

In Ubud, I learned to listen to my body. Instead of ticking off the usual tourist sites straight away, each morning I did what I really wanted - a yoga class or a spa visit. Some days, all I did was lie in a hammock and read. Crucially, I didn’t feel guilty and my nervous system began to calm, deeper than ever.

The body is never lazy. Sometimes it needs movement, sometimes stillness. If it needs to be still then honour that. The compassion you give yourself during recovery is part of the healing.

5. Australia - Rest means being yourself

There’s always a better version of yourself to work towards: fitter, more productive, more disciplined. The self-improvement never stops.

One afternoon in Sydney, I sat on the beach and found a large dried Banksia cone. As I inspected its intricate woody patterns, I thought how beautiful and natural it was, simply being what it is.

Sometimes rest is about giving yourself permission to exist exactly as you are, without explanation or optimisation plan. Authenticity is freeing and energising.

6. Chile - Rest requires perspective

Overwhelm keeps you trapped in tunnel vision. Every decision feels urgent, every worry consumes you. There’s no room to breathe when you’re stuck in the middle of your problems.

At the top of a mountain in Chile’s Atacama Desert, our guide told us mythical local legends as we sat watching the sunset behind the surreal moonscape. Looking out at that epic view put my life into perspective.

Taking yourself out of your normal environment can be calming, as it allows you to see things from a distance. Rest is about your state of mind, as well as physical recovery.

7. New Zealand - Rest reconnects you to wholeness

Burnout fragments you. You become a collection of roles - the employee, the manager, the spouse, the carer. You can lose track of who you actually are.

After months travelling through these countries, I looked across New Zealand’s stunning lakes and mountains and realised I wasn’t the same anxious person who left London. Here on the other side of the world, I felt calm and whole again, ready for a fresh start.

Genuine rest can help to reset you. It’s about integration - allowing all the fragmented parts of yourself to come back together, strengthened by the wisdom you’ve gained.

Learnings from a year of travel

For years I thought my tiredness was due to insufficient iron, vitamins or exercise. Turns out I was exceptionally good at surviving impossible circumstances with whatever scraps of energy I could find.

It took seven countries and several months for my nervous system to finally believe the threat was over. That’s how long it takes when you’re trying to heal in a body that’s been on high alert for years.

What this means for you

Maybe, like me, you read the wellness articles, bought the journals and downloaded the meditation apps, but you still can’t shake the exhaustion. You don’t need to travel the world - but you do need to ask yourself honest questions.

Real self-care sometimes means admitting the life you’ve built is what’s now depleting you. Our body and our energy are the foundation that everything else is built on. And you can’t build a foundation while the ground is shaking. Rebuilding takes courage.

Burnout was my body’s way of saying: get me out of here. Yours might be saying the same thing.

This week, a Vogue article went viral, asking Is Having A Boyfriend Embarrassing Now? Apparently women are avoiding posting online about their relationship because having a man takes a hit on your street cred. It concludes being single is seen as “a desirable and coveted status.”

Where was this energy when I needed it? Years ago, my long-term relationship ended, followed by disappointing dates and attending everyone else’s weddings alone. Tired of it all, I went to a workshop to learn how to finally attract my perfect man.

But instead of finding Mr. Right, I ended up going for dinner by myself and losing my shoes on a beach in Thailand. Turns out, that’s exactly what I needed.

The timeline panic

The milestones are clear. By your 30s, you should be settled. Partner, property, pension: the holy trinity of acceptable adulthood we’ve all internalised.

My relationship ended right as I turned 30. Everyone around me was getting engaged, buying houses and having babies, while I felt like I was falling behind. Which is why I went to the dating seminar, hoping for a quick fix to my love life.

Despite this being one of the cringiest moves of my life, I wasn’t alone. The hotel conference room was packed with successful professional women searching for a soulmate. We were all convinced finding a boyfriend was the missing piece of the puzzle to complete our lives.

“You need to fall in love with your life,” the dating guru told us. “Remember the dreams and passions you had when you were young.”

Casting my mind back, I recalled gazing into a travel agency by my university, mesmerised by their massive world map showing round-the-world flight routes. I promised myself: one day, I’ll do that. See the world.

But I never did. Real life took over - the relationship, the career ladder. All the things I was supposed to want. The timeline panic.

The guilt of ‘wasting’ your money

There’s an invisible hierarchy to how we’re supposed to spend our money. Saving up for a house deposit, a car or a wedding. Sensible investments. That’s responsible adulting.

What’s irresponsible? Booking a flight to Thailand for an adventure when you’re supposed to be hitting those milestones and getting your life sorted.

But that dream of exploring the world had reinserted itself into my brain and demanded attention. Surely taking my first ever trip to Asia had to be less mortifying than trying to chat up strangers in bars?

Solo travel can be really awkward

My destination was an island called Koh Chang at a place called Lonely Beach.

The irony of this name wasn’t lost on me. Especially when I arrived after a six-hour bus ride from Bangkok and found it fairly deserted.

That first evening, I sat in a local restaurant to eat a plate of Pad Thai. Hyper-aware of being on my own, I read the same page of my book 20 times and tried to project an air of “I’m having a marvellous time, thank you very much.”

For every traveller going solo by choice, for another it’s because they couldn’t find someone to go with. Staring at the empty seat opposite mine, my trip seemed less about empowerment and more about desperation.

I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake and would spend the whole two weeks talking to myself.

A woman approached me and asked if I was there alone. As I confirmed, I felt a wave of shame.

“Me too!” she replied with a smile. I hadn’t even noticed she was sitting by herself too. She asked if she could join me and we ended up talking for hours.

The next day, we went zip-lining over the jungle together. There’s an unflattering photo of me grimacing as I white-knuckle through the trees, just before I gave up.

Her confidence inspired me. Over the following days, I started approaching people and made more new friends. In the end, Lonely Beach wasn’t lonely at all.

Embracing our embarrassing moments

On my last day, we all went to the beach for the Loi Krathong festival of lights. As is customary in Thailand, we removed our shoes at the entrance to a bar. All night, we danced barefoot on the soft sand, celebrating under the stars.

When I returned to retrieve my sandals, I couldn’t find them in the mountain of footwear. Someone must have taken them by mistake.

Instead of worrying, I smiled as I walked barefoot along the road back to my accommodation. Here I was, halfway around the world, taking problems in my stride and doing just fine on my own.

Sometimes it’s the humiliating moments that become your most treasured stories.

The only thing worth caring about

Thailand marked the start of a love affair with solo travel. A few years later, I booked that round-the-world trip. Rather than focusing on a partner, I was finally making that younger version of me happy.

Maybe having a boyfriend isn’t embarrassing. And maybe travelling alone isn’t either. Whether you’re in a relationship or not isn’t the issue.

The only thing that’s actually awkward? Nearly missing out because you’re worried what other people will think. I would never have had these life-changing journeys without embracing the cringe.

So remember your dreams. Say yes to adventure. Do something that scares you. Lose your shoes and walk home barefoot.

Collect those embarrassing stories. Because in the end, that’s what really matters.

“Run fast, trust the process and enjoy the ride.”

The instructor’s words echoed in my ears. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my thudding heart and wobbly legs.

We were standing close together on a wooden platform, strapped into a harness attached to a hang glider. Below us, the mountainside tumbled sharply towards the Atlantic Ocean.

A year ago, as a stressed-out corporate worker in London, I would never have imagined myself here. Afraid of heights, yet about to leap off a mountain in Rio de Janeiro.

That’s the thing about solo travel - it takes you beyond what you think you can handle, changing you in unexpected ways.

You learn to listen to yourself

My first realisation began long before I arrived in Rio. It started on the very first morning of my round-the-world trip. I woke up in a beachside teepee at a yoga resort in Goa with a revelation: I could do anything I wanted. No negotiations, no compromises.

At home or at work, we’re so accustomed to collaborative decision-making that we can forget what we actually want to do. Solo travel strips away that noise.

Suddenly, you’re forced to listen to your own voice.

You can do as much or as little as you want. Want a quiet day with your journal? Done. I spent plenty of mornings resting and writing in cafes when I didn’t feel like sightseeing.

And when you emerge? The freedom to choose can lead you to incredible experiences. In Bali, I hiked up Mount Batur in the darkness, reaching the summit as the sun rose over the volcanic crater, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. In Malaysia, I surprised myself by becoming a certified scuba diver, discovering underwater worlds I’d only imagined.

There’s something profound about rediscovering your own desires when no one else’s opinions matter. And when you’ve practised listening to yourself for months on the road, it becomes second nature in daily life.

You make friendships faster

Here’s the surprising thing about exploring the world by yourself: you’re never truly alone. You can form deep friendships way quicker than at home.

When you’re flying solo, you naturally gravitate toward others - and they’re more open to meeting you too. There’s something about being unmoored from your usual life that makes people drop their guards. Conversations that might take months - if ever - to unfold at home can happen over a single meal.

Throughout my journey, I met incredible people. Some friendships burn bright for a couple of days before you part ways. Others you carry across borders and years, texting from different time zones and planning reunions.

I met Jenny on an airport bus in Thailand. Within minutes, we were chatting like old friends and sat next to each other on the plane. A few weeks later, she flew from her home in Singapore to spend the weekend with me in Bali.

Then I was in Malaysia on the eve of my birthday, convinced I’d spend it by myself. Yet not only did everyone from my hostel dorm join me for dinner and drinks, two new friends flew over from Borneo to celebrate with me too.

Travel teaches you that you don’t need to arrive anywhere with a social circle already in place. You can show up alone and trust that connections will form naturally. This kind of confidence stays with you long after you return home.

You prove you can handle the unknown

This might be the deepest transformation of all: what you discover when you’re in unfamiliar territory, facing things that terrify you.

So what happened when I actually launched myself off that platform in Rio de Janeiro?

“Run fast, trust the process and enjoy the ride.”

Taking a deep breath, I ran as fast as my trembling legs would carry me off that platform and we soared into the Brazilian sky.

Once airborne, my terror melted into wonder. We were floating. Below me, Rio in all its contradictions - luxury hotels with turquoise pools glittered beside thousands of favelas climbing the hillsides. The Christ the Redeemer statue watched serenely over it all, arms outstretched as if holding the entire beautiful city together.

Up there, suspended between mountain and ocean, everything looked different.

That’s exactly what solo travel does - it gives you a new perspective on the world and yourself. Most of the catastrophes I imagined never happened. The times I got lost led to the best discoveries. The moments that scared me became the stories I was proudest to tell.

Once you’ve proven you can leap off a mountain in a foreign country, everything else starts to feel manageable.

When we landed on the beach and my feet touched solid ground again, I was a changed person.

You return home unshakeable

When I left London for this round-the-world trip, I was paralysed by indecision and overwhelm. Often lying awake at night, worried that whatever I did would go wrong somehow.

During my year of travel, I found tools to calm my anxiety and grew to trust my intuition. Amazing things happened when I slowed down long enough to listen to my body instead of my racing mind.

I went to countries where I didn’t speak the language. I navigated getting lost, getting sick, getting scared. I faced my deepest fears suspended from a hang glider over the Atlantic Ocean. When things went wrong - and they did - I proved to myself that I was strong and resilient.

When you finally return home everyone will be there, ready to welcome you back. The streets will look the same. But you’ll be different. Calmer, steadier, more content.

You’ll have the quiet confidence that comes from knowing you can deal with whatever life throws at you. Because you learned it when it was just you, your backpack and the world.

Taking the leap

Travel will change you in ways you can’t predict from the safety of home. You’ll trust your instincts. You’ll make friends all over the world. You’ll prove you’re capable. And you’ll return home unshakeable.

That instructor in Rio was right. But you don’t need to be standing on a platform about to soar off a mountain. Maybe you’re standing in your kitchen deliberating whether to book a solo adventure.

Either way, the secret is the same: don’t overthink it. Take a deep breath. Believe in yourself.

Run fast, trust the process and enjoy the ride.

This year’s travel trends showed we’re hunting for destination dupes and cooler climates to escape over-tourism and heatwaves. But new research indicates that instead of asking ‘where should I go?’ we’re going deeper, asking ‘why do I want to travel?’

The trends shaping travel in 2026 reveal we’re seeking purpose and authentic experiences that reflect our values. This could be staying at a hotel with a story, bookish retreats or astrologically-aligned getaways.

So what’s your travel why? Here are seven of the latest trends to inspire you.

1. Purpose over place

Hilton Hotels calls 2026 the year of the ‘whycation.’ This approach to travel prioritises our emotional needs over the destination itself.

Why it matters: Decision fatigue is real. Starting with ‘why’ cuts through the noise. When we focus on our reason for travel, we choose quicker and return home feeling more fulfilled.

How to experience it: For self-care, look for programmes abroad tailored to your specific needs. For example, Tofte Manor in the UK hosts grief retreats, while Sanctuary Beach Resort in California offers a burnout recovery journey.

Years ago, my ‘why’ was to reconnect with my long-lost creativity. I researched art courses abroad and didn’t mind where. I ended up in Florence for a week of life drawing and this break was transformative. A few years later I returned to this Italian city for a writing retreat.

2. Hotels with a past

People are increasingly checking into hotels with an interesting former life. Hotels.com are seeing upticks in bookings for hotels repurposed from a historic bank in Stockholm, a school building in Kyoto - even a converted train station in Spain.

Why it matters: In a world of almost identical hotel chains, these places have unique character, charm and history. As well as preserving cultural heritage, your choice of accommodation becomes part of the story.

How to experience it: Look for converted historical buildings, from breweries to abbeys.

In Christchurch, New Zealand, I stayed in a hostel that’s a former jailhouse and found my prison cell surprisingly comfortable! I’ve also stayed at a historic courthouse converted into a luxury hotel in London’s Shoreditch (see photo below).

There’s something fascinating about sleeping in spaces that have witnessed so much human drama.

3. Testing relationships through travel

Forget dinner and a movie. In 2026, people will test their compatibility through travel. According to Booking.com, more than two-thirds (69%) are open to taking holidays specifically to see how well they click with new partners, friends or colleagues.

Why it matters: Travel strips away comfortable routines that mask incompatibilities. It’s an immersive way to understand someone’s values, adaptability and teamwork. You learn more in three days than three months of coffee dates.

How to experience it: You could journey to a remote location with a budget limit, language barrier or limited connectivity, to see how each of you handles ambiguity and discomfort. Or why not try a ‘role-reversal retreat’, where the natural planner hands over control and the quiet introvert takes the lead.

4. Retreat into a good book

Pinterest searches for ‘book club retreat ideas’ have jumped 265% and we will see the continued rise of ‘readaways’ - literary-themed holidays. Book enthusiasts are heading to coastal homes and countryside chalets to unplug, unwind and connect over stories.

Why it matters: In a culture obsessed with productivity, dedicating an entire holiday to reading is an act of quiet rebellion. Readaways also create a built-in community for what’s normally a solitary hobby.

How to experience it: Join organised reading retreats like Books in Places, which runs UK and international trips in the locations where the books are set. In the US, Page Break hosts immersive reading weekends overlooking New York’s Catskills Mountains.

5. Travel written in the stars

Nearly half of people would change their travel plans based on spiritual guidance or horoscopes, while 39% time trips with moon phases to or avoid Mercury retrograde, according to Booking.com.

Why it matters: As the world becomes more unpredictable, cosmic timing gives people a comforting framework for decisions. For younger generations especially, it’s about making travel feel spiritually intentional rather than randomly chosen.

How to experience it: Why not time trips around celestial events, like going to celebrate the summer or winter solstice at sacred sites like Glastonbury Tor or Stonehenge in the UK. Alternatively, visit places known for their spiritual energy, like Sedona in Arizona, US.

6. Farm stays for a rural escape

According to a new Expedia report, a huge 84% of travellers are interested in staying on or near a farm. It seems people want to wake to roosters crowing rather than room service.

Why it matters: We’re living increasingly in our heads and staring at screens. Farm stays pull us back into our bodies. The sensory experience of interacting with animals, hiking in the countryside and harvesting produce brings us satisfaction and appreciation of the present moment.

How to experience it: You can book accommodation on working farms and rural properties around the world. In the US, these include Arrowhead Country Cabins near Utah’s Zion National Park and Phoenix Farms Vineyard in North Carolina. In the UK, try Huntlands Farm Bed & Breakfast near Worcester.

When you’re collecting eggs, petting cows or picking fruit, you forget about your daily worries. Instead, you’re participating in ancient agricultural practices and rhythms.

7. Road trips make a return

The humble road trip is having a moment. According to Hilton, 71% of Americans plan to drive on their next vacation, while Booking.com revealed that 79% of global travellers are now drawn to the spontaneity and flexibility of driving over flying.

Why it matters: Road trips are about freedom - they allow us to reclaim our autonomy. No more fixed departure times, destinations and baggage rules. You decide where to stop, when to linger and what detour to take.

How to experience it: Use carpooling apps to connect with like-minded travellers or let an AI tool help you map an off-the-beaten-track route. Getting lost is part of the adventure.

I’ve done road trips through Portugal, Belgium, France and Florida in the US. All of them have allowed us to make unplanned stops and discover less-visited places.

Looking ahead

As our world becomes more complex, travel is evolving into something more essential than escape. It’s becoming a tool for reconnection - to nature, to history, to each other and to ourselves.

These seven trends tell us that travel is heading towards more meaning and more alignment between our journeys and our values. Where we go matters less than the intention we bring.

So for your next trip, take this as an invitation to go deeper and start with ‘why’ - you may find it leads to richer, more fulfilling adventures in 2026.

It happened years ago. My partner and I met this young couple by chance in the jungle on a Malaysian island. When they learned we’d never been to Japan, they quickly sketched a map. Their tips ranged from Niigata in the north for its top-quality sake, down to Okinawa - a string of subtropical islands we’d never heard of before.

I kept that hand-drawn map tucked inside a travel journal for five years. When my 40th birthday approached, I decided it was time.

During our three weeks in Japan, we landed in Okinawa. Known as the ‘Hawaii of Japan’ thanks to its palm-fringed beaches and turquoise seas, there’s something more fascinating beneath the surface.

These islands have one of the world’s highest concentrations of people - particularly women - aged 100 or more, as well as remarkably low rates of heart disease, stroke and cancer.

While I was grappling with turning 40, feeling officially old, I was in the place where women live longer than anywhere else on Earth.

So why is it that people on these small Japanese islands enjoy such a long, happy and healthy life?

What makes Okinawa special?

Okinawa is one of only five places in the world labelled a ‘Blue Zone’ - regions where people live longer and healthier than anywhere else on the planet.

Along with Okinawa, the Blue Zones are:

• Sardinia, Italy - the mountainous Ogliastra region has the world’s highest concentration of men aged over 100, almost 10 times more per capita than the U.S.

• Ikaria, Greece - around a third of residents on this Mediterranean island live beyond 90 years old, many still enjoying an active lifestyle.

• Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica - this region has the highest life expectancy in Central America, with many residents living to over 90 years old.

• Loma Linda, California - people in this small city near Los Angeles live up to a decade longer than the average American, thanks to a healthy faith-based lifestyle.

What unites these diverse places? An active lifestyle, a sense of purpose, reduced stress, mindful eating, a mainly plant-based and low-alcohol diet, and a strong sense of family and community.

In Okinawa, these longevity factors are woven into the islands’ unique culture and daily life.

The island that moves at a different speed

The first thing I noticed when we arrived in Okinawa is how time moves differently here. No-one is in a hurry - especially compared to Japan’s capital Tokyo, where we’d just spent a few days.

While on mainland Japan, punctuality is revered so much that the Shinkansen bullet trains seem to run to the exact second, things are different in Okinawa. Here, they move on the much more relaxed ‘Oki time.’

Events routinely start later than advertised, buses often run behind schedule and arriving fashionably late to gatherings is the norm. Okinawans see stress and rushing as counterproductive to wellbeing.

They have integrated this relaxed philosophy into their homeland’s infrastructure. Even the Okinawa Expressway has a maximum speed limit of a leisurely 80 km (50 miles) an hour.

The wisdom of mindful and healthy eating

One day, we drove (slowly) south on the main Okinawa Island and across a short bridge to the tiny island of Ojima. We were there to try its famous tempura.

Ojima - meaning ‘small’ - island has a mile-long circumference, meaning you can drive around it in under 10 minutes. Its fresh fish, seafood and tempura shops attract queues every day.

Oshiro Tempura Shop is a no-frills, cash-only spot with chairs and tables outside and cats roaming around. We indicated our order by ticking boxes on a paper form.

The tempura was unlike any I’d had in a Japanese restaurant. Thick, fluffy batter coated local favourites purple sweet potato, bitter melon and seaweed, fried to golden perfection. Each piece was substantial but not heavy.

My partner always comments on how slowly I eat. But in Okinawa this is normal - they practice hara hachi bun me, which loosely translates as ‘eat until you’re 80% full.’ Consuming your food slowly gives your stomach enough time to register that it’s full, stopping you from overeating.

It turns out my annoying habit aligns perfectly with one of the world’s healthiest cultures.

Where spirits still walk

Returning to the main island of Okinawa, we drove 20-minutes north along the coast to Sefa-utaki, one of Okinawa’s most sacred sites.

Winding staircases and footpaths led us through lush jungle surroundings to shrine areas and rock formations. The last place we reached was the most sacred. Here, two huge rocks lean against each other, forming a triangle-shaped space, like a natural cathedral.

For thousands of years, people have come here to worship in Okinawa’s native Ryukyuan religion, honouring ancestors as well as the gods and spirits of the natural world. They believe Amamikyu, the goddess of creation, descended from heaven at Sefa-utaki. The serene atmosphere was unlike anywhere else I’d been.

Giving thanks to nature and honouring what came before is a spiritual practice thought to contribute to Okinawan people living longer, healthier lives.

Purpose and belonging

Two of the most important principles in Okinawa are having a sense of purpose (ikigai) and community (moai).

Ikigai translates roughly to ‘reason for being:’ what motivates you to get up in the morning. In Okinawa, this could be as simple as the work you do or the hobbies you enjoy. At that tempura shop, I saw ikigai in action - decades of perfecting this one specific dish.

Community is equally important. Moai means ‘meeting for a common purpose.’ Here, people form long-standing social groups that support each other. This community bond means everyone has reliable assistance and companionship throughout their lives.

In Okinawa, you wake with purpose and you’re surrounded by people who care. This combination may matter more than any diet or exercise routine when it comes to living a long, fulfilling life.

As I turned 40 on these islands and settled into Oki time, I realised it’s not about adding years to your life, but adding life to your years.

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Have you been to Okinawa or Japan? I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments.

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The only problem I couldn’t solve was myself.

Forget Sunday blues, I had daily dread. I couldn’t sleep properly or eat well. Pushing through was all I could do, always working late, until it became clear things were never going to improve.

One lunchbreak during a walk in a park near the office, I stopped to look up at the clouds blanketing the sky. My heart was racing from the stress of the day, my mind spinning with everything that could go wrong.

In this moment, I said a silent prayer to the universe: “Please show me a way out of this.”

When your foundation breaks

Your body is always braced, your mind panics at the smallest trigger and the worst case scenario becomes your baseline: this is what survival mode looks like from the inside. The cruellest part is you’re so busy, you often don’t even realise you’re in it.

In my case, a long-term relationship break-up formed the first crack in my life. Finding a new home and starting over alone coincided with huge changes at work. The ground felt like it was shifting under my feet and it was all I could do to stay standing upright. The cracks splintered through my body and my spirit.

Smiling through the stress and throwing myself into my job didn’t work, yet I clung on. Because letting go meant admitting I didn’t know who I was without it.

Finding an answer

I kept searching for answers to resolve my sense of unease - productivity hacks or the latest positive mindset book - but none of it worked. Because you can’t think your way out of survival mode.

I turned to doctors, therapists, even a tarot reader. Eventually I gave up and pleaded with the universe to give me a sign.

Soon, I got my answer. Over drinks later that week, a friend mentioned a job opening. A couple of interviews later, I was delighted when they offered me the role. Finally, I had my escape plan.

Between jobs, I gave myself a week off. Time to relax, refresh and reset before this new role that was sure to reignite my passion.

On a whim, I booked flights to Italy for my first ever solo trip abroad. I decided to return to Florence, a city I’d visited years before, and take an art class there. I had no idea this little trip would have such an effect on me.

What safety actually feels like

Florence was a revelation, in a beautifully gentle way. No alarms, emails or deadlines.

My mornings began with life drawing classes - learning to see how the sunlight fell across the model’s face. In the afternoons, I explored public gardens and quiet streets. I sat in cafes sipping bitter espresso from tiny cups and writing in my journal about the day’s small discoveries.

I loved this daily rhythm. It was calm, undemanding and perfect for me.

In Florence, my body remembered how to relax. My shoulders dropped, my jaw unclenched and, finally, I breathed deeply again.

The moment everything becomes clear

Returning to grey London, the dread resurfaced. I gulped down emotions as I unpacked my suitcase. Suddenly my glorious new job felt like something else to survive.

When I met my new colleagues, my face lit up as I told them about my Florence trip. I realised my enthusiasm about these few days abroad surpassed anything else. Usually, I loved starting a new role and getting to grips with things. I told myself it would get better once I settled in.

Sometimes hope is a way for us to lie to ourselves about what we already know deep down. On the journey to work each day, I gave myself pep talks, trying to calm myself down while my body told me to run away. I was so confused: it was a glamorous job with lots of opportunities. Increasingly, I felt disconnected from London life and the things I used to love about it.

One day, it hit me: I’d been operating from fear, adrenaline and coffee for so long, I’d forgotten what anything else felt like. My week in Florence was a preview of what life could be when I allowed myself to slow down and breathe. It was intoxicating - I craved more of that feeling.

But knowing what’s wrong doesn’t magically fix it. I told myself to stop being silly and focus on my work. But the cracks were growing and threatening to break me.

What happens when you finally listen

My journal from Italy was now full of essays about how much I wanted to travel long-term. After years of saving, I had enough money. Sometimes I’d convince myself to quit my job and travel, before the security of the monthly salary lured me back into my comfort zone. Surely it would be better to keep my savings for a house deposit?

After tearful conversations with my family, they booked me a meeting with a life coach.

We met at a coffee shop. The words spilled out - my struggle to be happy, the job I desperately wanted to like and my desire to travel. The life coach, listened, then he said simply:

“You can’t do both. Which matters more?”

I realised I’d been searching for an impossible third option. One that involved no risk to the career I once loved. But a life in survival mode isn’t the safety and security it pretends to be.

My answer rose up from within me and I heard myself say the words, “I want to travel.”

He smiled as if my wild dream to abandon everything was the most natural thing in the world. Because for me, it was.

The relief of finally choosing yourself

The next morning, I woke with equal parts fear and delight.

Within weeks, I handed in my notice on both my flat and my job. I stepped off the shaky ground - but it didn’t feel like I was falling, like I’d feared.

That decision led me to a year of solo travel around the world. I fell in love - with places, with people, with life itself. I built a life I never could have imagined when I was in that overcast London park.

Not everything went perfectly, of course. There were moments when that familiar panic resurfaced. But I forged a new resilience and ways to manage these overwhelming moments. By taking this trip, I’d chosen myself. I was breaking free from survival mode.

The wisdom that’s been waiting

Your therapist can’t tell you what path to follow. Your life coach can’t answer the questions. The tarot cards won’t decide. Only you know what you’re supposed to do - and you’ve probably known longer than you’re willing to admit.

Looking back, I realise my plea to the universe wasn’t about asking for an answer. It was about the courage to trust myself. I knew the solution to my problems all along - I was just too afraid to listen.

What I learned from all this is the hardest part isn’t seeing you’re in survival mode. It’s about listening to that quiet voice inside that knows the truth instead of fighting against it. And believing in yourself enough to choose something different.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is stop asking everyone else what you should do - and finally trust what makes you come alive.

If you liked this article, please leave a ❤️ as it helps other people find it.

Let me know if my story sounds familiar. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

It's 11pm and I can't sleep. I'm writing this in my journal from my bunkbed in this Auckland hostel, trying to process what happened.

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