In 2018, my life was at a bit of a crossroads, to put it mildly. I had survived a 2016 suicide attempt, thrived in an intensive outpatient program and other subsequent therapy regimens, and flopped at a real endeavor to go back to work. I had been writing here on The Royal Tour since mid-2017, as something to keep me busy, writing that led to roughly weekly articles mainly about past travel and short trips I tried to take. I was, it’s safe to say, floundering, unsure of where my life should go.

Mental illness isn’t just something one typically “gets over,” and I was faced with the stark realization that my rocky professional life, which saw me both attain an impressive resume of positions within the nonprofit world at a young age and – almost like clockwork – lose those jobs, was likely to continue indefinitely, but become increasingly difficult to overcome both in a career sense (companies value stability, which I’ve never possessed) and from a personal standpoint in terms of my own health. I was incredibly fortunate that between my savings and the overwhelming generosity of my family, I owned my house here in Los Angeles free and clear, and after consultations with my parents and sister (shoutouts for being in my corner), I decided to take the following year, 2019, and travel most of the year, renting out the house to cover my expenses. It wouldn’t be luxurious by any means, but it would be enough.

For maybe the first time in my adult life, I thrived. I had the new (for me) experience of waking up and not only being ok with having another day in my existence, but being glad for it. Through my travel, through taking extensive periods living in another place with really only myself for company (and some friends I’d make along the way), I came to know me, to appreciate me, and even to like me. For someone who had spent my prior few decades stuffing “me” into the recesses of my mind in order to appear healthy and to better take care of those around me, this was new. And it was wonderful.

Of course, I’d continue writing here, increasing my output to two articles per week (give or take), and I’d get tremendous satisfaction in some of the feedback. Apparently my willingness to write about deeper topics, which was not yet my norm but rather something I was experimenting with, was welcome in the space, appealing to a niche audience who appreciated it and me.

Armed with these victories, I planned 2020 to be more of the same, extending my renters’ lease on my house. And then Covid hit. I was in Spain, the first trip for which A would join in part, and forced to come back home to ride out shutdown. It absolutely rocked me to my core, not being able to travel for most of two years, and I realized that this life, this weird life of travel I had built, was what I wanted.

It is now 2024, and between this year and last (my first back to a mainly full travel schedule), I will have been on the road for more than 12 months of the 24. It is something that is hard to wrap my head around. I always have a trip on the imminent horizon, one being finalized, another filling in details, and yet another in the planning phases. Or more. It is overwhelming from a logistical standpoint, and only my pages of notes and spreadsheets keep my calendar firmly in my head. Destinations mix, languages confuse, writing swirls, and time zones are mere fiction. But I am fulfilled, and I am happy.

My partner, A, is able to travel most of the time with me thanks to the unintended fallout of the pandemic, as the majority of her work has remained remote. Together, we explore, we learn, we immerse. We try our best to live as locals would in a place (sometimes more successfully than others) and I endeavor to bring those experiences to you. It gives me purpose, as I truly believe that only through learning the deeper intricacies of the world can we come to understand that most people are decent, despite most societies being less so.

It is a life few people understand, and in describing it, reactions are more negative than I’d have ever believed. From some people, the negativity has to do with me missing things ranging from birthdays to holidays, though I do my best to schedule travel around things as I can (like weddings, 50th anniversaries, and such). From some it is based in jealousy. I’ve chosen to not have the burdens that society says I should have in my forties (a mortgage, children, a traditional job), things that would keep me in one place. I believe some people, while taking a lot of satisfaction in those things, have moments they would wish to be more free, and see me as the embodiment of that. It can suck when one is going to work and one’s friend is posting photos from “research” for an article about pina coladas in San Juan.

But for another set of people, some of whom I’ve been very close to for much of my life, the negativity is outright hostility. I’ve been called a wasted life, a Peter Pan, and other things of that nature for having the audacity to pursue my own happiness, and not even at the expense of theirs. But mine is so far outside the societal norms that it, in their minds, has to be wrong. Travel is seen as escapism, not as the pursuit of something in and of itself, and therefore I can’t possibly be happy just running away, and of course in time I’ll grow up and want the things that I’m expected to want.

It is hard to say what the future holds. After all, I never intended to even live to this point, so this is my bonus life. Might I look back on my life from a future point and regret not having those things? Maybe. Or maybe not. Only time will tell. But I don’t believe that I am somehow lesser for having made the decisions I’ve made that have led to this point and this life. I don’t believe my life does harm to anyone else, and it might just do something positive for some. I’d hope that would also count for something, even if my own happiness doesn’t.

So some days, this crazy travel life can be hard. It is hard to have friends – and strangers – express negativity toward my existence and my perceived impact on the world around me. On days where I’m in the weeds of trying to figure out logistics for a trip or wording for a particularly sensitive article, it can get to me more. On other days, when I stop to appreciate a sunset or the meaning behind an experience I’ve just had, I am better able to push it from my mind.

This life isn’t for everyone. For some of those with a job, kids, and a mortgage, it is those things that bring fulfillment. And that’s amazing! But for me, especially in light of what it otherwise could have been, this life is one that I am grateful for. So I’m going to back to my crazy travel life, and hope those around me can find the same peace with their existences that I’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon with mine.