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Can You Actually Travel Yourself Happy?
For five years I chased happiness around the world. The answer surprised me.
Here is the plot of most movies and books involving travel: Person’s life sucks. Person takes a long trip to somewhere exotic. Person’s life improves greatly. Person writes a bestseller about the adventure, it gets made into a movie, and the travel-yourself-happy plan attracts new converts.
This life improvement strategy was likely simmering in my subconscious when my landlord shoved a lease renewal form under the door of my tiny studio apartment in New York City.
I had felt vaguely unhappy and directionless for years, lying to everyone including myself every time I went jogging in my I ❤ NY t-shirt. I had no idea where to go next. I just knew I couldn’t sign that lease for another year.
More than five years would pass until I had a permanent address again. Chiapas, Mexico. The winding journey in between gave me temporary homes in twelve countries on four different continents.
I was unimaginably happy in every single one.
HA, JUST KIDDING!
I cried on several continents. I had breakdowns and breakups. I felt lost. I felt alone. I was alone. I spent holidays without loved ones. Birthdays with complete strangers. I nearly convinced myself I’d be alone…
