Not Every Trip Will Change Your Life (and Why That’s Okay)
Peace lives here. -South Korea, 2025
I made the executive decision for Mat and me to spend a month in South Korea. I was drawn by its national parks, Jeju Island—often nicknamed the Hawaii of Korea—and a curiosity about their famed wellness and beauty culture.
But here’s the thing: after a year of non-stop travel and over fourteen years of living and adventuring abroad—I’ve become…a bit spoiled.
Yes, the landscapes were beautiful. Pristine forests, granite peaks jutting into hazy skies, ancient temples tucked into mountainsides like quiet secrets. But something inside me felt muted. Like I was seeing it all through fogged glass.
Awe had become harder to access.
I didn’t mean to compare—but I couldn’t help it. The wonder that used to bubble up effortlessly now felt harder to summon.
And then, came the guilt.
Guilt for choosing South Korea as our final destination on a year-long adventure. Guilt that it wasn’t “hitting” the way I hoped it would. Guilt that we could have been somewhere else—somewhere wilder, warmer, more magical. Guilt that the final chapter of our big trip wasn’t closing with a cinematic bang.
I confessed this to Mat, who, with his usual calm, reminded me of something simple yet profound: I was placing unfair pressure on the experience—and on myself.
“Not every day has to change your life,” he told me. “Some days are just…days.”
He was right, of course.
The Exhaustion of Chasing Awe
In truth, manicured waterfalls and barriers frustrate me — nature made neat, beauty fenced off. But in this moment, I chose appreciation instead. - Jeju Island, South Korea, 2025
Striving to make every moment profound is not only unrealistic—it’s unsustainable.
Somewhere along the way, I began measuring joy by how extraordinary something felt. But that constant reaching left me depleted.
With Mat’s insight, something shifted.
For the first time in a while, I wasn’t trying to get anywhere. Not spiritually, not logistically. I allowed the moments to just be.
I noticed the warmth of the sun on my skin after days of chilly rain. An old woman’s smile as she passed me on the street. A butterfly, yellow and electric, landing on a flower outside a bus stop. The rare luxury of a soft bed—almost impossible to find in Korea. The simple joy of walking into a hotel room in Seoul and realizing it actually had floor space. These weren’t the moments I had set out to find—but maybe they were the ones I needed.
Little things.
Small, quiet joys.
And I began to wonder: Where does happiness really come from?
Is it in the milestones, the mountains, the epic “this will change me forever” kind of moments?
Or is it, perhaps, in the overlooked details?
In the hush of the late afternoon sun moving across a tiled floor.
In an aimless walk through unfamiliar streets, where each corner offers nothing in particular—and somehow, that’s the point.
In the way the sky fades from apricot to rose, like watercolor bleeding across paper.
Maybe happiness isn’t something we find. Maybe, it’s something we notice.
A place I’ve visited countless times as a California native. Rows of palm trees that could feel ordinary, even forgettable. But today, I let them be enough. The present only asks that we show up — so I did. -Santa Barbara, California, 2025
The future is always tugging—asking us to chase, to plan, to prove.
But the present? It only asks that we show up.
So that’s where I’ve decided to rest for now.
Not searching. Not striving. Just paying attention.
Noticing the way a full moon casts silver across rooftops, like spilled milk on a table. The soft tuft of clouds resting like cotton against a blue so deep it aches. In the stubborn green of a plant pushing through a sidewalk crack. In a melody I don’t recognize, but sway to anyway.
No applause. No peak moment.
Small wonders that ask for nothing but my noticing.
The Art of Passive Joy
These days, it doesn’t take much. One of my greatest joys is sitting on a balcony, watching the sky soften into gold and rose — grateful just to be here, catching the day as it exhales. -Malta, 2025
Passive joy-finding. It’s not chasing an experience. It’s receiving one. Not making magic—but letting it find you.
It’s a superpower we all carry and often forget to use.
When we stop demanding the extraordinary, we start seeing the sacred in the ordinary. And as our mood shifts, so does the lens through which we view our world. We notice different things, different parts of the same scenery.
Stay still long enough, and you’ll realize: you don’t need to move to new places to feel wonder—you just need to move differently inside yourself.
Reflection Questions
What do you tend to chase when joy feels far away? Validation, novelty, motion, distraction? And what would happen if you just sat still instead?
How often do you confuse stillness with stagnation?
What are some small joys you’ve overlooked lately?
Can you recall a time you felt unexpectedly moved by something ordinary?
Call to Action
I write about these moments of internal reckoning, unexpected beauty, and the quiet courage of choosing yourself in my memoir, Stray: Breaking Free, Falling Hard, and Growing Stronger.
👉 Subscribe to my newsletter for exclusive sneak peeks, writing updates, and reflections from the road.
👉 Or share in the comments: What’s a small joy you noticed today?
