We’re a family of three about to head out on a six-month trip around the world. One that we’ve been dreaming about and planning for the longest time. And now, elements of doubt are settling in.
This post feels very “Dear Diary”. It’s pretty raw, and I’ve questioned whether I should post it at all. But then I wondered if I felt this way, maybe others do too…
It feels weird this time. In a good way, I think. But still weird.
We’re just so far out of our comfort zone. It sounds bizarre considering we usually live and travel in our campervan, but somehow the van has become our comfort zone. It’s just normal now. It’s home. Our three-year-old knows it as home. He knows the little routines, the cupboards, the bed, the places we stop, all the idiosyncrasies that make up van life.
And now we’re getting on a flight and disappearing for around six months.
It suddenly feels like a lot. I keep questioning whether it’s the right thing to do.
Are we being selfish? Are we hurting our families by taking him away? Would we be hurting our own little family by staying?
Argh. The decisions are so difficult.
We’ve literally been talking about travelling for ten years. Ten years of lists of places we want to see, pins covering our Google Maps, conversations that start with “one day…” and end with us planning imaginary routes around the world.
And now some of those dreams are actually happening.
That’s the mad part. The dreams we’ve talked about for years are finally becoming real, and now that they’re within reach, I’m second-guessing them.
Maybe that’s what happens when something stops being a dream and starts being a decision. When it’s a dream, there’s no responsibility attached to it. It’s just exciting. Somewhere on a map. A photograph saved on your phone. A “wouldn’t it be amazing if…”
But then you have flights booked. And dates. And people you love who you’re going to be leaving behind. Suddenly, the little voice starts asking whether you should just be sensible instead.
Maybe we should get a house.
Maybe we should settle down.
Maybe we should do things the normal way.
The trouble is, I’m not sure we’ve ever really known what the normal way is for us. We never quite feel like we belong anywhere. And I think that’s what hurts sometimes.
It can be hard feeling like the odd one out amongst your family and friends. Like everyone else seems to have worked out the rules for life and you’re still standing there wondering whether you’ve accidentally picked up the wrong instruction manual.
We’re not going travelling to “find ourselves”. I think it’s more about reminding ourselves who we are. Reminding ourselves what makes us feel alive. And maybe showing Little Rick that there’s more than one way to live a life.
Because there’s something about travelling that makes everything feel very immediate. The nervous anticipation of arriving somewhere completely new.
Will we like it?
Will we be safe?
Will we figure it out?
Not knowing where the next few days will take you, or who you’ll meet, or what you’ll find around the next corner.
And then, you meet people.
Complete strangers who you can connect with almost immediately because you’re living the same sort of strange, transient life. You understand each other without needing to explain much.
You share a meal.
A story.
A drink.
A morning.
Maybe a few days.
And then you say goodbye.
Sometimes you don’t even know their surname. And you’ll probably never see them again. But for a little while, your lives crossed. And it was real and raw, and you felt understood in ways you can’t even begin to explain.
I think that’s one of the things I love most about travelling. And also one of the things that makes it so difficult.
Because I think the heart of a traveller is always in two places.
One half is back “home” — with family, friends, familiarity, the people who know you best and the life you’re perhaps supposed to be living.
The other half is out there.
In the mountains.
On the beaches.
In unfamiliar streets.
In the next place.
In the new.
And maybe that’s why, before every big trip, there’s always a little part of me that thinks:
Should we even go?
Are we doing the right thing?
Should we just stay?
Should we be sensible?
But then I think about the alternative.
The feeling of waking up somewhere new. Of discovering what we’re capable of when we don’t know anyone or anything. Of learning how we survive the uncertainty.
Watching our little human wander off and make a complete stranger his best friend within approximately thirty seconds. Seeing the world through his eyes. Watching him realise that home doesn’t have to mean one particular place.
And remembering that there are so many different ways to build a life.
Maybe that’s what we’re really looking for.
Not a place to belong. Not some grand answer about who we’re supposed to be. Just the freedom to keep discovering what makes us us.
It’s scary.
It does feel selfish sometimes.
It also feels completely ridiculous sometimes.
And honestly, I’m still not entirely sure we’re doing the right thing.
But I also know that if we stayed because we were scared, or because we thought we should, there would always be a tiny part of us wondering what would have happened if we’d just gone.
So, we’re going.
For six months. Into the unknown. Away from everything and everyone familiar. And towards some of those dreams we’ve been talking about for the last ten years.
I’m excited.
I’m terrified.
I’m already missing people we haven’t even left yet.
I guess that’s the funny thing about this life. Your heart can be in two places at once.
Maybe it always will be for us.
But maybe that’s just how ours is supposed to be.
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