Home and Travel: Why You Can’t Appreciate One Without the Other

I used to think “home” was a dirty word. Out there — on the road — was where life happened, full of exciting adventures, fascinating people, and endless possibilities. No dreary commutes, 30-minute lunch breaks, mind-numbing meetings, or endless lists of to-dos squeezed into a rushed weekend.

Why would anyone want to be home, the place where routine seemed to sap your will to exist? It baffled me.

My first trip overseas — a vacation to Costa Rica — made me fall in love with travel. For all the reasons mentioned above, I realized why “vacations” were so romanticized in work culture. There was a freedom to them that stood in stark contrast to the daily corporate grind.

So, when I finally quit my job, I set off on an adventure to experience all the world had to offer for as long as I could make my money last.

I mean, who could possibly tire of life on the road?

Well, me.

Eventually, I did tire of being a full-time nomad. I craved a stable group of friends, regular workouts, a bar that knew my name, a kitchen to cook in, and my own bed.

Suddenly, I realized that “home” wasn’t a dirty word. It just felt that way to a young, restless soul for whom adulthood felt eons away.

I had come to understand what someone who is just setting out with romantic notions about travel couldn’t: You can burn out. On my first trip abroad, after 18 months, I hit the wall and decided to cut my trip short. Then, years later, in 2013, I decided that being a nomad was no longer the life for me and decided to stop traveling full-time.

It was time to grow up, I said. Time to stay put and move on from nomad to… whatever came next.

But the allure of the road — and the business of working in travel — pulled me back constantly.

As the years went by, I lived between two worlds: one in which I am traveling, longing for home, and another in which I am home, longing to head out again.

There were moments where I longed for a clone so I could live in both and satisfy my dual desires.

After all, you can’t — and shouldn’t — live solely in one forever.

Because travel and home are complementary forces, yin and yang. Without one, you can’t appreciate the other.

All travelers hit a wall, that moment when they look around and go, “I’m ready to stay in one place.” When and why that happens is a product of many factors, but I have yet to meet a traveler who doesn’t have that experience. When I started traveling in my twenties, it took me years to feel that. But now, a couple of decades older, it happens after just a month.

To handle life, the brain creates mental shortcuts to help it process information. It’s why we tend to drive the same route to work every day — it’s just easier, and it’s why you feel like “you can do it in your sleep.” Because if your brain had to figure out a new route to work every day, it would tire itself out. These routines let us put a lot of life on autopilot, so we have energy for work, people, emotions, thoughts, etc.

But when you travel, you are relearning life skills every day. You have no mental shortcuts. It takes a lot of mental energy to figure out your way in the world anew each day, to repack your bag, say good-bye to the person you met yesterday, and head out and try again to navigate unfamiliar lands, languages, and people as if you had never done so before.

It tires you out.

Whereas a vacation is a temporary break from life, long-term travel is different. When you travel long-term (or are on the move frequently), there is no break. You’re constantly trying to figure things out and also constantly breaking your routine. Your travel battery drains.

Yet in the same way the travel battery needs to be recharged, our “home” battery does too.

While some people can follow the same routine their entire lives, most of us can’t. We find it boring. We need a break. After a while in one place, we yearn to break up the monotony of our daily routine. Work, commutes, errands… day in, day out, like ants marching on and on.

So we go travel again. We have an adventure, meet new people, try new food, and have new experiences. Maybe be learn, grow, and expand who we are as a person. Maybe we’re away for a week or two or we take a month off. Or we start working remotely and spend months away. But eventually our battery drains: we get tired, and then we head home again.

And the cycle repeats.

Growing older has made me believe that we can never fully appreciate home or travel without the other. My first years on the road would never have been so amazing if I weren’t trying to break free from a quarter-century of routine. Likewise, my bed never would have felt so good had I not spent so many years on the move, changing rooms, and having erratic sleep. Nor would I have enjoyed the relief that routine brings had I not spent so many days trying to navigate the stresses of the world for so long.

The joy of one is amplified by the other.

Travel and home are two sides to the same coin. I appreciate each more now than when I was younger, because I get to experience both on my own terms. I’m not trying to run away from either or go to an extreme anymore. I simply follow their ebb and flow and let the battery of life dictate when one or the other happens.

And I think that is a wisdom that only comes with age — and experience.