Traveling Isn’t My “Why”

Why new places don’t spark me the way flow, ideas, and people do

I don’t love traveling. That might sound funny coming from me—right now I’m writing on a nine-hour flight from Doha to Denpasar for the Financial Freedom Summit—but it’s true. This year has been the most travel I’ve ever done: two weeks in Europe, trips to California, Atlanta, North Carolina, New York, and a string of conferences and talks sprinkled with a few vacations.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad to see new places. I like meeting people, and I enjoy the surface pleasures of travel—the food, the brief dislocation, the accidental conversations. What I don’t like is the long tail of travel: the baggage (literal and emotional), the way everything becomes harder: eating well, exercising, writing, staying present for work and podcasts. The joy is short. The cost is ongoing.

Talk to many people in the financial independence community and you’ll hear travel as part of the dream: retire early, become a digital nomad, chase sunsets across continents. For me, traveling isn’t the thing I wake up for. It fails to light me up long term. As I’ve thought about why that is, I realized the inconveniences are only the surface. Here are three deeper reasons travel isn’t my “why.”

1. I’m a person of thoughts, not actions

If you’ve read my posts or listened to my podcasts, you know I spend a lot of time inside my head. Almost every waking hour, half my brain is having a conversation with itself. Friends will say something and I’ll stare back blankly because I was somewhere else, buried in thought. That interior life is not a flaw…it’s my engine. It gives me endless engagement without booking a ticket.

Because I’m so inward, I’m less driven by external stimuli such as sites, photo ops, and itinerary highlights. The world’s wonders, for me, often register as surface events. They’re pleasant, but they rarely seed the deep, sustained excitement that keeps me going for months. That’s not to say I never enjoy a new place. I just don’t need it to feel alive.

2. I chase flow

What I want more than novelty is flow—the state where hours vanish and everything aligns. For me, flow looks like podcasting, writing, exercise, long walks by the lake with classical music in my ears. It’s the feeling of total absorption. I can manufacture it through routine, repetition, and deliberate practice: put on the same playlist, sit at the same desk, run the same route. Those cues prime my brain.

Travel, by definition, disrupts those cues. Newness brings unpredictability: different beds, different schedules, different background noise. For people who thrive on novelty, that’s the juice. For me, it’s friction. It takes longer to drop into flow when so much is unfamiliar. That’s why travel often feels like a detour rather than a destination.

3. I’m not a visual person

As a child I struggled with reading; letters and numbers didn’t always sit right on the page. Over time I learned that my brain is more verbal than visual. Words and ideas stick; vistas do not. When I stand at a famous overlook, I feel the awe in the moment. A week later, the image fades. What lingers are the conversations, the humor, the vibe of the company I kept.

My favorite travel memories aren’t scenic panoramas; they’re a late-night conversation in a hotel lobby, the ridiculous joke my travel buddy told on a delayed train, the way a foreign market smelled like cardamom and lemon. But those feelings are easier to cultivate at home with the right people than to pursue halfway across the globe.

So what does this mean?

I’m not arguing against travel. Plenty of people derive deep, lasting meaning from seeing the world, and it’s a beautiful choice. What I am saying is that travel is not a universal “why.” For me, it’s a sometimes-rewarding hobby with real costs. More important, I think we should be honest with ourselves about what we imagine will bring meaning. A lot of folks dream of perpetual travel in retirement—until the novelty wears off and they’re glad to settle into routines that bring real satisfaction.

There’s another pattern I’ve noticed: people who burn out on nonstop travel often end up rediscovering local rhythms—friends, hobbies, neighborhoods—that keep them happier. They don’t give up their wanderlust; they just stop treating travel as the whole point. That rings true for me. The blissful moments I’m after are often available closer to home.

So here’s my invitation: before you make travel your central retirement fantasy, ask yourself what you’re actually chasing. Is it novelty? Instagramable moments? Or is it connection, creative engagement, and the chance to be fully present? If it’s the latter, you may be surprised how effectively you can cultivate those experiences without clearing your calendar for months at a time.

If you love travel, tell me why. If you don’t, tell me why not. I’m genuinely curious: what is it about travel that hooks you…or doesn’t? I’ll be reading your comments, hopefully with better Wi-Fi than most airports.

And yes: I’ll be in Bali for the summit. I’ll take in the sunsets, sample the food, hug a few old friends, and then come home and get back to the habits that actually make me feel alive.

Did you catch this week’s episode of Earn & Invest (Click to listen)?

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