A Year Off

by Alexandra Brown

  It was finally time for bed, but despite my exhaustion, I could barely sleep. Maybe it was because our Airbnb was in a massive building I suspected was a Y2K compound and later repurposed as an Evangelical church’s retreat center . . . or maybe it was the carbonara. It was most likely due to the fact I felt completely rudderless and overwhelmed with anxiety about my future. Did I just trade a successful career and an awesome life in San Francisco to become a directionless vagabond? I was questioning if this was a bold step toward owning my life and decisions or if I was just a burnout. In the years before the trip I slept very little, trying to squeeze in an overloaded social schedule and a very demanding job. I dedicated far too many hours to my office life, took too few vacations, and was not sure if I even valued what I did. Maybe all my woo-woo philosophizing was really only my justifying running from my fucked-up life.

  The next day was another long day of driving. I tried to be a pleasant travel partner while I toiled internally. Alexandra was concerned about me, but I wasn’t yet ready to share. My thoughts felt totally unclear, and I was far too embarrassed to even reveal the theme. We eventually arrived at Badlands National Park. It was beautiful, but I still couldn’t break out of the funk. A light dusting of snow on the ground reflected the golden colors of the sun as it approached the horizon. As we arrived at an intersection, we came upon a bighorn sheep that had walked onto the road. We stopped the car. I expected it to run away, but it remained. We got out of the car and looked down the hill to discover a herd of forty or more bighorn sheep. We quickly realized they were all about to cross in front of us, so we grabbed our coats and stood in the middle of the empty road waiting.

  The sheep were surprisingly tranquil, and many of them made eye contact with us. It felt as though they were assessing our intentions for being there. I was captivated, and my mind went silent. The cold air froze my nostrils, and my eyes watered from the occasional frigid gusts interrupting the otherwise perfect stillness. I felt inexplicably calm. The animals passed one by one. Some were massive while others were smaller than deer. A young sheep came up right next to me and gave me a trusting look, then walked to Alexandra and stood by her side. They stood on the edge of the road together and overlooked the migration below. I was in complete awe. My body buzzed with light as I stared at Alexandra and the young sheep watching the sunset like old friends. Something began to crack inside me. I am here for a reason, I heard a bold voice say. I could choose to see my situation otherwise, but then I’d miss the beauty of it all. This moment was not my goal nor part of the plan, but it was perfect. This was why we were here. It was why we were doing this.

  WHAT HAVE I DONE?

  Alexandra

  Those first few weeks on the road shone a light on how much pride David and I had taken in having long been on a course of “doing the right thing.” We had spent our mid- to late-twenties working hard at jobs that held clout and earning our reputations in our respective fields. David had put himself through college as well as an MBA program. The MBA was indicative of his choice to abandon the artist lifestyle he, his parents, and his friends were a part of in order to establish what he considered a more stable and “normal” life. I had diligently followed the high-achiever track, going from prep school to a top university to a fast-paced job in advertising. Throughout our twenties, we both worked to amass achievements that fit what most Americans deemed as “success,” but no promotion, milestone, or praise we had received thus far gave us a sincere feeling of accomplishment.

  The trip felt like a solution to this, but departing from the world we had known was still jarring. We were taken aback by how much anxiety leaving our jobs and a steady paycheck triggered in us, and we weathered a lot of emotional ups and downs. During the hours we spent in the car on the way to our first stop, David’s grandfather’s home in Wisconsin, we would talk and talk and talk about everything we hoped to do with our newfound freedom and sure-to-follow unbridled creativity. We spoke about learning how to play all the songs on Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago. We committed to doing something physical every single morning. We thought we would even start writing a novel.

  But what ended up happening once we got to Wisconsin was a lot of eating, sitting in front of the fire questioning what we were doing, and getting buzzed while watching old Jacques Cousteau films that a relative had left in the cabin years ago. We were freaked out, and the additional pressure we had applied to ourselves to do something completely amazing right from the start didn’t help matters at all.

  We had the hardest time with how to answer the question “what do you do?” now that we didn’t have our old jobs. We suddenly found ourselves without the security blanket of a clear, concise title. In the U.S., what people do is often synonymous with who they are, and we felt at a loss for an answer. When we first left on our trip and people would ask us about what we did, we felt pressure to answer briefly but would end up rambling, over explaining our decision and ultimately coming across as insecure. We simply didn’t know how to respond. Were we travelers? Adventurers? Wanderers? The answer was unclear, and all the obvious choices lacked the depth we wanted to express about our journey.

  Over the coming weeks, the voices of doubt would continue to creep into our thoughts, but they became easier to shake off. Embracing what we were doing fully became the only real option. We could no longer keep one foot in the door and one foot out. While it took leaving the country to really solidify our transition from working life to traveling life, the road trip and prepping period proved to be a testing ground for learning how to face our fears and begin accepting who we were.

  EMOTIONAL SITUATIONS TO EXpECT

  So much emotion can be wrapped up in making the decision to go that you expect to feel awash in an unbelievable sense of relief about everything thereafter, but the first chapter of the journey is rife with mixed feelings. Big change incites reaction; do not be surprised if you encounter one, if not all, of the following.

  1/ Identity Crisis

  If you are part of the nine-to-five working world or have any regularity within your day to day, there is a good chance that obliterating your way of life will throw you for an emotional loop. It seems obvious, but many people do not expect to have a strong reaction to this sort of change. From our experience and those of people we met on our travels, the intensity of the reaction seems directly related to three factors:

  • Whether you are planning on returning to the same profession and life you had before you left or not.

  • Whether your choice to take the trip was encouraged or discouraged by those around you.

  • Whether you are able to afford to retain the luxuries in your current lifestyle or had to let those things go.

  Depending on your answers to the above, you may feel slightly off every now and then, or you may find yourself questioning your very existence. You may regularly face questions like, “What the hell am I doing with my life?” or “Who am I turning into?” On the other hand, you may find yourself saying, “I always thought I needed espresso to start my day, but now I am really enjoying tea. . . . I never thought that would happen.” Wherever it falls on the spectrum of intensity, an identity crisis is a perfectly normal reaction to have when a big change takes place.

  Tip: Take the time to write down your feelings. Doing this can be hard, irritating, and inconvenient, but you may gain some much-needed perspective. Most likely many of the thoughts you are having will sound a bit far-fetched once you read them, especially if you read them aloud. A lack of certainty around who you are and what you are about doesn’t mean going on the trip is the wrong choice. It most likely means this trip is a brilliant idea and great things are in store for you. Make a list of these feelings, take a deep breath, and engage.

  2/ Financial Freak-Outs

  Spending money when you have a steady stream of income going into your bank account feels just fine. Spending money when you have nothing coming into your bank account can feel just awful. If you are accustomed to supporting
yourself, not making money can be terrifying and lead to unneeded stress and anxiety. When money feels scarce, you may find yourself harshly evaluating how you spend your time, being excessively thrifty, or feeling stress every time you want to buy something. Fortunately, what you may discover is that the money tends to work out. Everyone we talked to ended up spending exactly what they thought they would when they left, ourselves included. Life on the road isn’t nearly as expensive as you would imagine it to be, and you’ll likely be surprised at how far your money can go.

  Tip 1: When you are feeling stressed about money, remind yourself you are not on this trip to save money; you are here to enjoy.

  Tip 2: Remind yourself that you can always go home early. Better to have amazing memories of all you experienced than to be able to say you went everywhere and experienced nothing.

  Tip 3: Set aside a separate fund for luxuries and trinkets. If you have a stash for extraordinary experiences or expensive things you must buy and send home, you won’t feel like you’re losing a grip on your broader budget.

  3/ Waves of Overwhelming Paralysis

  When you suddenly find yourself with all the time in the world, you may have no idea what to do and end up watching hours of Netflix instead of reading that book on Buddhist philosophy you’ve been meaning to read but didn’t have time to read because you were working, but now you’re not working. . . . What am I doing with my time? Sometimes the luxury of having more time can result in a panic of feeling pressure to make the absolute most of that time. In moments like this, the waves of panic roll in and nothing feels satisfying.

  Tip 1: Do not underestimate the power of a solid nap or a good night’s sleep.

  Tip 2: You have made the decision to take off because you want to invest your time and energy into something you care about. Do not abandon yourself. Keep up a positive attitude and drop any expectations, even if they seem valuable to you. They will limit you from getting a deeper and more intuitive understanding of yourself and those around you.

  Tip 3: Take at least three deep breaths and ask yourself, “What would make my heart sing right now?” Yeah, we know, that sounds pretty ridiculous, and admittedly, it became a bit of a joke with us, but it works. Something about the silliness of the prompt can help you get out of your head for a second and take a moment to really consider how you want to spend your time. Don’t fixate on what you “should” be doing or what you “need” to do. Instead, frame the decision by considering what will bring you the most joy in that moment. The sooner you learn how to give yourself what you want or need, the sooner this feeling will pass.

  4/ Unbridled Joy

  This one needs no explanation. Just savor it!

  WAKE UP TO YOUR PRESENT

  A good friend who is a well-seasoned traveler himself once told us travel is part fun, part self-discovery, and part hard work. We found the same goes for taking the first step toward embarking upon your trip. Bailing on the well-worn established path puts far more pressure on you to lead your own life and involves varying degrees of self-discovery. This is all to say that like any transition, there are lots of things that do not feel so great at first but may end up being pretty amazing in the end.

  We learned not to set the expectations for our newfound freedom unreasonably high. We gave ourselves time to settle into seismic changes and made room for the numerous emotions that bubbled up. Looking back, that first flush of the trip was a time we will never forget. It was full of excitement and fear, adventure and doubt, letting go and holding on. It was an invitation to be present—an invitation that endured throughout the trip—and the first real opportunity to embrace who we wanted to be. It was a time to savor because it was a time we had only once, and the bigger journey was just ahead, eagerly waiting for us.

  Chapter 2

  Planning Your Route

  There are countless different ways to spend a year traveling. Visit every continent, focus on one hemisphere or the other, crisscross the equator, or stay east versus west. There is no right or wrong route, but there are lots of factors to consider. In this chapter, we will offer tools to help you envision what you want from this trip, prioritize potential destinations, and ultimately create a route that will set you up for an amazing adventure.

  We fell hard for the romance and ring of an “around the world” trip, so that became our foundation. Although we had a good start, we were far from having a route even when we set off on our Great American Road Trip. We were overwhelmed by possibility. We took a leap of faith and bought our first series of oneway tickets: New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, and Cambodia. It felt like a good start based on weather, interests, and people to visit. On the road, choices became easier as we began to learn more about decision-making from others and ourselves.

  At the beginning, a year of traveling felt like a massive amount of time. We bought a foldout map of the world and would spend evenings chatting about the seemingly endless list of incredible places we could explore: Patagonia, South Africa, Kenya, Ethiopia, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, India, Czech Republic, Scotland, France, Italy . . . the list went on and on. We wanted to experience it all. Every time we would learn more about a region or country, the more enticed we would become. Countries that only seemed vaguely interesting at first would start to become “must sees” as we learned more about their unique landscapes, food, traditions, and people.

  Alongside our continuously growing list, a conflicting interest was gaining great strength. We did not want to only see places; we wanted to experience them. Experiencing the day-to-day nuances of a place and its people was what tour books and photos could not convey. We wanted to get to know locals, fall into the rhythm of real neighborhoods, and catch a glimpse of what it would be like to live there. To understand a place well enough to laugh at a native joke, throw out a bit of slang, and see the places locals loved even if they were not magnificent enough to make the tour books and blogs, these were things a trip like this could provide that a vacation could not.

  As our desire to go to as many places as possible converged with an equally strong aspiration to deeply experience those same places, a year felt shockingly short, and planning and setting priorities became even more important.

  A Recipe for Conflict

  Pittsburgh, PA

  ALEXANDRA

  40.4406° N, 79.9959° W

  David and I are both list makers. Lists feel like the calm in the storm by giving us focus and making the amorphous more defined. It was only natural that when we felt completely overwhelmed by the endless possibilities for our year of travel we would make a gigantic list and go from there. We started big, highlighting countries of particular interest, then got more specific, writing down sights, experiences, and cultural moments we didn’t want to miss. As we added to our collective list, we found we not only had a lot of overlap between our wishes but also had one significant thing in common: we were both more interested in immersing ourselves in a specific place or culture than seeing a selection of sights. Making the list was easy and exhilarating, but cutting it was not.

  Cue our first major fight.

  We were about halfway through our road trip and five weeks away from leaving the country, and it was the week before Thanksgiving. We were visiting David’s parents in Pittsburgh before heading to Atlanta to spend the holiday with my family. While driving back from meeting some of David’s friends, we had gotten on the topic of time allocation in different regions during the international stage of our journey. Our opinions started to diverge, making room for our personality differences to take center stage. An anthropologist at heart, David leaned toward his instinct to go to the unfamiliar. Although he wanted to experience Europe, his desire to experience Southeast Asia, India, Africa, and South America began to take precedence. He saw Europe as a destination we could go back to again and again when we were older and had different travel preferences, particularly after having kids. I, on the other hand, was pushing for more of a balance. I felt the need to complement the periods of
greater culture shock and potential discomfort with more familiar and comforting places. I also felt the pressure to make more “realistic” decisions based on our time constraints. Africa and South America sounded great, but would we actually have the time to do everything without spreading ourselves too thin?

  The more we expressed our opinions, the more our emotions escalated until David pulled the car over into a parking lot near his parents’ house. Although the conversation was focused on the route, it also grew out of the fact that we were very different people in many ways, especially when it came to danger, risks, and planning. I consider it wise to avoid danger, tend to gravitate to the familiar, and hold tightly to a plan, while David sees danger as part of doing great things, is curious about the unknown, likes to push his limits, and is likely to blow up the plan in hopes of building a better one.

  Sitting in the car that night, these differences seemed insurmountable. I could feel David polarizing himself to me, and I felt forced into expressing the fears I preferred to manage internally. I wanted to scream, “I am not an adventurer! You found me out!” and I might have in the heat of the moment. I was scared of the unknown and hated how so much of this new lifestyle felt out of my control, yet despite all my fears and discomforts, I wanted this. I did not want to sacrifice the chance to embark on this incredible adventure with an amazing person because I was fearful. I knew I wasn’t an adventurer at my core, and that my impulse to control everything would continue to be a near-constant struggle, but I wanted this adventure badly.

  In that moment, the route discussion became the avenue for all my anxieties to come to the surface. I began to cry. I was terrified all of this would be a failure. David would not feel the same way for me as I did for him. I might have ruined my career. Our trip would end before we even left the country, and I was kidding myself to think I could handle doing something like this. In that moment, my heart was filled with fear as I envisioned what failure would mean for me. I had never put so much on the line.