Last night I was in bed, late-night scrolling — not the cute kind where you’re casually browsing, but the kind where you’re half planning your next life while your body is trying to sleep.
I’m currently planning my next two trips. Booking flights, building itineraries, deciding where to go, how long to stay, how to make it all fit.
And the thing I keep bumping into isn’t a lack of desire. It’s a lack of time.
Not “time” as in “I’m busy.” Time as in: I have ten days. Ten days to see one country. Or, if I’m being ambitious (which I always am), ten days to see two.
And I keep having this moment where I have to remind myself: I’m not mourning travel. I’m mourning the way I used to travel.
The whole point of my business was freedom
One of the reasons I opened my business in the first place was simple: I wanted to be able to travel whenever I wanted.
Not in a “digital nomad aesthetic” way. In a real way. In a my life is mine way.
And I always knew that having a child would change things. I always knew school would come. I always knew that “normal schooling” would bring structure, calendars, and limitations. (This is also why homeschooling will always be tempting — but that’s another post.)
So it’s not that I’m shocked.
It’s that I’m still coming to terms with it.
Before: time, flexibility, and the luxury of not knowing
Before, I could say: I have a month. I have a couple of months. I have time to let a country unfold.
And the secret ingredient wasn’t just the length of the trip — it was the space inside it.
Space for spontaneity. Space for detours. Space for meeting people and changing your mind.
Sometimes you need structure — like China, where you literally have to submit your travel plan before you even get the visa. But most of the time, I didn’t plan like that. I planned enough to arrive safely, and then I let the trip breathe.
I’d meet someone and they’d say, “I’m heading this way.”
And I’d think, I hadn’t even considered that way… but why not?
I’d hear about a small town, a province, a beach, a place no one was talking about — and I’d just go.
That’s what I miss.
Not the “being away” part. The freedom inside the trip.
Exploring with Romeo
Now: everything is the school calendar
Now? Everything is the school calendar.
Everything.
I’ve got the 2027–2028 school calendar saved. Saved. Like I’m planning a military operation. Like I’m running a logistics company. Like I’m trying to smuggle joy through bureaucracy.
And in a way, that planning gives you security. You know what’s happening. You know where you’ll be. You know what you can fit in.
But it also means the trip becomes something else.
It becomes planned by the day. By the hour. Sometimes by the minute.
And when you travel with a child, spontaneity isn’t just “harder.” It’s almost a different concept. Because spontaneity with a tight timeline doesn’t feel romantic — it feels risky.
If you only have nine days, you can’t just “see what happens.”
If you only have ten days and you’re trying to see two countries, you can’t just drift.
You have to choose. You have to cut. You have to accept that you will not see everything — and that’s the part I’m still learning.
Let’s be honest: this isn’t new to me
I need to say something here, because I don’t want to pretend this is a brand-new struggle.
Before the world trip, this was literally my life.
When I was in corporate, I travelled like everyone else: counting days, fighting for holiday approval, trying to book my annual leave before anyone else could grab the good dates. My manager used to make fun of me — like, “What do you mean you’re already planning next year? You want the time off now?”
Yes. Yes, I did.
Because even then, travel was never just a nice extra for me. It was the thing my life organised itself around.
And I did something else that sounds ridiculous but is completely true: I used to change jobs more often than I probably needed to… partly because no one would give me a full month off.
So I’d do this little life hack: when I got a new job, I’d tell them I could only start on a certain date. Not because I was being difficult — because I was building myself a month in between. A month where I could disappear, breathe, travel properly, and come back feeling like myself again.
That’s how much travel dictated my life.
And that’s also why the world trip mattered so much — because I was tired of the return flights. Tired of the countdown. Tired of everything being measured in “how many days do I have left?” I wanted the flexibility. Or at least a bigger timeline. Enough space to explore without feeling like the trip was already ending the moment it began.
That’s what travelling the world gave me. That’s what my business gave me too.
So yes, I’ve done short, structured travel before. I’m not new to it. I’m just… grieving that I finally got out of it, and now I’m back in it again — for a completely different reason.
The new version of travel: intense, intentional, and sometimes… a bit rushed
This isn’t a “poor me” post. Most people travel like this. School calendars have always existed. Work leave has always been limited.
But I used to have a different rhythm, and now I’m adapting to a new one.
And yes — it can feel intense.
Four capitals in a week? Insane. Possible, yes. But insane.
Even planning a “simple” trip now comes with a different kind of pressure:
How do I make it meaningful without turning it into a sprint?
How do I give Romeo a real experience without exhausting him?
How do I keep my own soul in it when the itinerary starts looking like a spreadsheet?
I’m trying to accept that the answer isn’t “do more.”
It’s “do less, better.”
Nine days? Maybe maximum three cities.
Not because I don’t want more — but because I want the trip to feel like travel, not like a checklist.
The part that surprises me: I actually love coming home now
Here’s the thing I didn’t expect.
I love travelling. I always will. I love exploring, learning, being challenged, being reminded that the world is bigger than whatever routine you’re stuck in.
But I also love coming home now.
I genuinely do.
And I think that’s part of this stage of life too — the way travel and home start to balance each other differently. I’m not trying to escape my life. I’m trying to expand it.
So maybe the new version of travel isn’t worse. It’s just different.
More intentional. More planned. Less spontaneous. Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes brilliant.
And still mine.
I’m not complaining. I’m adjusting.
This isn’t a victim post. It’s an adaptation post.
I’m learning how to travel in a life that has structure. In a life that has school calendars. In a life where freedom looks different than it used to.
I’m learning how to get a vibe quickly, and then come back later if I want depth.
I’m learning how to leave space where I can — even if it’s smaller space than before.
And I’m learning that the version of me who travelled for months isn’t gone.
She’s just evolving.
Seeing the World together
And the truth is… I wouldn’t change it
But here’s the part that matters most, and the part I never want to get lost in all this talk about calendars and timelines:
I actually love this.
I love travelling with Romeo. I love watching him take in the world in his own way — not through mine, not through adult expectations, but through his lens. The things he notices. The questions he asks. The way he connects with people. The way a ferry playground can become the highlight of a whole trip. The way “normal” moments abroad can feel just as magical as the big ones.
Yes, I miss the old freedom sometimes. Yes, I miss the spontaneity. But I wouldn’t trade this version of travel for the old one.
Because showing him the world — and seeing the world with him — is genuinely one of my favourite things in my life. It’s not a compromise. It’s not a downgrade. It’s a different kind of richness.
So I’m not just adjusting to this era. I’m choosing it. And I’m grateful for it — even when I’m staring at a school calendar like it’s a flight schedule.
Love
Emma