adjusting to full-time travel: the first 20 days of my world trip

I quit my job in big tech to embark on a journey around the world. First stop: Japan

My name is Lauren. I quit my job in big tech to travel the world, after ending an 8 year relationship, finding love again, shattering my leg in a road accident and surrendering to the concept of living a wild and precious life. This is my story.

I was born in London, into Acton’s asphalt arms. When my parents moved to the suburbs, I watched London from a distance, in awe and envy. The metallic tang of the underground, the tapestry of variegated brick and the heady smell of rain on pavement. The city where I’d come of age, again and again.

Saying goodbye was hard. On the day we left for the airport, I could physically feel the weight of the last month in my body. It was like trying to keep up with a treadmill that was rolling too fast - leaving my job, moving out of my flat, saying a hundred slightly-delirious goodbyes. Nothing felt real, until I watched my parents drive away from the airport.

My mum wore oversized sunglasses in the world’s worst attempt to hide what can only be described as mascara-streaked howling. My dad’s kind, gentle eyes, misty with tears. I felt the deepest ache of love and gratitude. In every chapter of my life, my parents’ arms have held me tightly, steadily and ready to catch me, especially in my ‘down the rabbit hole’ moments. Although this goodbye represented strength and recovery from a difficult chapter, it also felt a little like letting go. My childhood - like the last golden glimmer of sunset - slipping further into the distance.

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Whilst Tim, my boyfriend, amused himself with an array of trashy romcoms, I could barely focus during our 20-hour journey to Japan. My mind was incredibly noisy. I found myself with an alarming compulsion to create to-do lists and work on my content strategy for

gap year at 30

(spoiler alert: there is no strategy). I frantically scribbled thoughts into my journal:

‘My brain is already trying to kick into the next thing. The next opportunity. It has no idea what’s actually coming.’ - Wednesday 2nd April.

We landed in Japan and arrived in a particularly damp and dingy apartment after 36 hours of no sleep. After an emergency nap, I woke up groggily and disoriented, with a crushing feeling of despair. Like I’d made the most horrific mistake by embarking on this adventure.

But Tokyo cradled me like a child.

Paper lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze during our first stroll. Back-alley coffee shops and izakayas glowed amber through wooden lattice frames. The clicks of mechanical bikes echoed through quiet streets. My first katsu curry tasted like liquid gold. Despite its size, Tokyo was somehow incredibly cosy. Like a heart-warming bowl of steaming ramen on a cold, rainy day.

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But don’t be fooled, we aren’t travelling gently. In 20 days, we’ve ripped through Tokyo, Hakone, Kyoto, Osaka, Hiroshima and now Fukuoka. Our final stop is Nagasaki. I’m worried that this pace is going to catch up with me. There hasn’t been enough time to relax or to pursue creativity yet. In fact, I’ve felt like I have switched full-time work for full-time tourism. Although I haven’t yet found the balance between time for myself and sightseeing, I have been ‘tapping out’ here and there. On those days, while Tim explores whatever place we’re in, I stay at the hotel or hostel with nothing but my notebook, laptop and hopefully, a hot cup of coffee.

Physically, I’ve seen significant differences in my body already. Just three weeks away from spending 10+ hours a day at a desk, my legs are becoming strong and toned, my shoulders defined, my hair wilder and my skin freckled. On average, Tim and I walk between 10km and 16km every single day. My fitness tracker tells me that my resting heart rate has already reduced, I’m getting more sleep and I’m significantly less stressed than before.

Mentally, I have begun to unwind. I think (and dream!) less and less about work, about London, about my life before. And I’ve already experienced so much newness. I spent a morning in basic samurai training, I meditated for 40 minutes with a monk, I’ve eaten food outside my comfort zone and I’ve learnt so much about Japanese history and culture.

Most poignantly, I’ve observed human kindness in a way that you don’t when you’re locked into the daily grind. Like when an old lady, without hesitation, offered us £5 when we didn’t have enough cash to cover a meal. I’ve also started to appreciate simple pleasures - like a morning sip of matcha latte (luxury to a budget backpacker) or unexpected conversations with strangers.

And Japan - well. My first glimpse of Mount Fuji summarises Japan aptly. The mountain rises into the sky with quiet majesty. Solitude. Its snow capped summit like a perfectly glazed iced donut. Symmetrical. The kind of mountain that belongs in an ancient fairytale or a well-curated Instagram feed.

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So, twenty days into full-time travel. I do feel a little lighter. More open. But I’m not there yet. My mind still whirs on the future, my next career move and anxiety that things are ok at home. I haven’t tasted freedom. And sometimes I wonder if I ever will.

For now, I’ll keep moving.

Slowly unravelling.

Knowing that each step brings me closer to future me — even if I don’t quite know where I’m heading.

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Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading my post. You can catch up on all my posts here. Consider subscribing if you’d like to follow my journey.