There’s a moment—when you’re driving down a backroad in New Mexico, wind whipping through the car windows, your playlist hitting just right, the road open and endless—where something inside you lets go. Maybe it’s anxiety. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s just the pressure of being the version of yourself everyone else is used to. Whatever it is, it unhooks from your ribs and drifts out the window like a sigh. And you remember: you are more than your wounds.
That’s what travel does for me.
I don’t mean resort-hopping or snapping perfectly posed selfies in front of monuments you barely had time to read the plaque for. I mean real travel. I mean pulling into a tiny diner off a gravel road because it has a funny name. I mean wandering through a historic cemetery in an unfamiliar town because something about it calls to you. I mean listening—actually listening—when a stranger starts talking, because for once, you’re not in a rush to be anywhere.
The Open Road as a Reset Button
For someone who grew up in the suffocating confines of small-town West Texas, travel has always felt like rebellion. Like freedom. Like breathing. When I was 16 and couch surfing after being kicked out of my grandparents’ house for being gay, I fantasized about travel the way some people fantasize about falling in love. I didn’t want luxury—I wanted motion. I wanted distance. I wanted to know there was more out there than judgment and Jesus fish bumper stickers.
I still do.
Every trip I’ve taken—whether it was solo, with my chosen family, or side by side with Matthew—has left a mark. And not the kind you need sunscreen for. I’m talking about the quiet shifts. The ones that happen in your perspective. Your confidence. Your belief that you can exist in unfamiliar spaces and still be exactly who you are.
Healing Happens in Motion
There was a time, not too long ago, when I was walking around Waikiki, fresh off heartbreak, fresh out of excuses. I had just turned 40. I was tired. I had cancer. I had survived so much but didn’t know what I was surviving for anymore. But there I was—on a solo trip, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with nothing but a backpack and a running commentary in my head. And somewhere between hiking 30 miles, getting lost, and standing on the cliffs of Makapu’u Point, I realized: healing doesn’t always look like therapy couches or journal entries. Sometimes it looks like walking yourself into exhaustion until your thoughts finally shut up. Sometimes it looks like discovering your legs can carry you farther than your fear said they could.
Travel has a funny way of sneaking past your defenses. You can’t cling to your trauma when you’re too busy figuring out how to ask where the bathroom is in a language you barely know. You can’t spiral about your ex when you’re on a rollercoaster in Vegas, screaming your lungs out while gripping the hand of someone new. (Hi, Matthew.)
And you can’t keep living small when you’ve seen the size of the Redwoods.
Why It Works (Even If You’re Not “That Person”)
You don’t have to be a digital nomad or quit your job and backpack through Europe to reap the benefits. Some of the most healing trips I’ve taken were just road trips to nowhere in particular. It’s the change that matters. The shift in scenery. The permission to break routine. The ability to see yourself in a new context, not defined by the same four walls or the same roles you play every day.
Because when you travel, you remember that you are allowed to be different versions of yourself. And all of them are valid.
The quiet one in the back of the Uber who doesn’t feel like performing.
The goofy one taking awkward selfies at national parks.
The curious one asking strangers where the best local food is.
The brave one booking the flight without a plan.
Tips for Making Travel Part of Your Healing (Even When You’re Broke, Busy, or Burnt Out)
- Redefine “Travel” – It doesn’t have to be a plane ticket. It can be a 2-hour drive to a nearby town with a weird roadside attraction. Or an overnight in a part of your own city you’ve never explored.
- Travel With Intention – Don’t just escape. Reflect. Take a journal. Walk without GPS. Talk to locals. Let the discomfort of newness teach you something.
- Build a Travel Ritual – Maybe you buy a new book for every trip. Maybe you write a letter to yourself from each location. Maybe you bring a tiny bee figurine and photograph it like it’s Flat Stanley (just me?). Give your travel meaning.
- Say Yes More Often – Some of my best memories came from saying yes to things I initially wanted to decline. Karaoke in a bar where I didn’t know anyone. Climbing a hill I didn’t think I could. Sitting at a communal table and meeting people I still talk to today.
- Go Alone At Least Once – It’s terrifying. It’s awkward. It’s empowering as hell. And you’ll learn things about yourself you didn’t know you needed to know.
- Document the Feels – Not just the pretty photos. The feels. The breakdown at the scenic overlook. The realization while waiting in line. The gratitude that hit you over coffee in a hotel lobby.
I’ll never stop writing. Never stop unpacking trauma, celebrating survival, and laughing at the absurdity of it all. But travel? Travel is how I live it. How I feel it. How I remember that there’s still magic in the world—and in me.
So if you’re stuck, hurting, or just craving something more… book the damn trip. Take the drive. Walk a different path, even if it’s just for a weekend. You might not come back fixed, but you’ll come back different. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Let’s go find ourselves again.