Traveling Was the Worst Decision I Ever Made

I was happy with my life. I had a good job, lived in a great city, had great like-minded friends. I had the next five years of my life planned out. I was going to work in advertising, make a name for myself, meet a nice girl and settle down with her, etc. etc.

And then I decided to travel.

I should have seen it coming. Ever since I could remember, I’ve had a thirst for adventure. When I turned 16 and received my driver’s license, all I wanted to do was drive. It didn’t matter where. I would see a road and wonder, “where does that go?” and I’d take it and let it lead me wherever. It didn’t matter how mundane the drive was; the road could have led me into a tract of cookie-cutter homes and I still would have found it all so fascinating.

I should have known that going off on a European adventure wouldn’t extinguish the fire in me to explore; it would only fuel it. But hindsight is 20/20, I guess.

I was ecstatic when I got my first real job out of college. All I wanted to do was begin making waves at my company and start my career. I wanted to go from new guy to rising star! I was ready to ascend the corporate ladder.

And I was doing just that. I became that rising star and was being given more and more responsibility every day. It felt nice to do well. I had coworkers regularly telling me I’d be getting a promotion without a doubt and moving up in no time. But as the months rolled along, something changed in me. Perhaps it was being stuck in the confines of an office five days a week, ten hours a day, but I found myself staring out of the eleventh-story windows towards west Los Angeles glimmering under the bright sun and a clear, blue sky and asking myself, “This can’t be it, can it? This can’t be what life is all about, right? Am I really supposed to just work all day every day for the rest of my life? Is my life going to be about living for the weekends?”

I had done a complete 180 from my mindset just a few months prior when all I wanted to do was work and make money.

I found myself wanting more; needing more. I struggled with this for a few weeks before eventually quitting. Yes, I left my great job with awesome coworkers and a fantastic boss and I told them I wanted to travel. My boss told me on my last day that I’d have a job waiting for me when I got back—and not just a job; a promotion! I left the country thinking I just needed to get this out of my system. I was convinced that once I went away for a while, saw some Renaissance art, met some new people, and dined in European cafes I’d be all set to come back and continue my ascent into corporate superstardom.

Boy, I was so wrong.

My first trip to Europe was two months long. I visited Ireland, England, France, Spain, Italy, Austria, Switzerland, and Ibiza. I could spend hours telling stories about my travels, but I’ll spare you the details. Instead, I’ll sum up the amazingness of my trip like this: there’s always the cliched story of falling in love while abroad and it forever changes you. Well, I didn’t fall in love with anyone, but I did fall in love.

With traveling.

I fell in love with the world. I couldn’t believe I had gone 24 years without realizing just how amazing this planet was. And not just Earth, but the people inhabiting it.

There’s something so exhilarating about arriving in a new, foreign city in which you don’t know the language or customs or people. You’re a complete stranger in a new country. It’s terrifying yet intoxicating.

I hopped off the train at Stazione di Venizia Santa Lucia and walked out to the canals, the gorgeous, colorful, thousand-year-old buildings rising straight out of the green, murky water, boats whizzing and humming along, the sun setting to the west, the smell of low tide and diesel fuel wafting through the air, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was sensory overload to see such an incredible city, and I loved it. The possiblities for adventure were endless, and I was hooked.

I loved everything about traveling, including the mundance parts of traveling. I loved slowly meandering through airport security lines and sitting at gates patiently waiting for my flight to whisk me away to another country and another adventure. I loved riding busses and metros. I loved riding the train from Venice through the Alps into Innsbruck, the snowcapped mountains entrancing me, making the four-hour trip feel like mere minutes. I loved being on airplanes, staring out the window down at the earth and realizing just how small our planet can feel, and how significant you can feel on it.

The world is such a beautiful, magnificent place and suddenly I had a burning desire to see it all.

When I first got back, I was happy to be home. I had grown weary of traveling and for a few days, truly believed I got it out of my system. I had beaten my wanderlust and I assimilated back into American life. I went back to work, declining an offer from my original company because I received a fantastic opportunity with another ad agency in Los Angeles. I was climbing the corporate ladder again, but just like last time, after a couple of months, I found myself feeling the exact same way I had felt before. That burning desire to explore — to seek adventure — returned to me in full force. It dawned on me that two months in Europe wasn’t going to be enough. I wasn’t sure if any amount of travel would ever be enough.

So I quit. Again. And left the country. Again.

This time I went to to northern Italy, Budapest, Prague, and Paris before jetting down to Thailand to do some island hopping and then grabbed a flight back up to Dubai, for good measure. I arrived back in Los Angeles, happy to be home after a long, exhausting adventure, and then after a week I was ready to get back out on the road. Again.

It was frustrating. My thirst for adventure, for travel, was as strong as it ever was. Visiting eleven countries in eight months didn’t satisfy my wanderlust; it made it ten times worse.

I knew I had a problem. While my friends were advancing their careers and asking themselves questions like, “How much do I need to save for that new car?” or, “How am I going to afford that house?” I was asking myself, “How much do I need for my next trip?” or “Which countries should I visit next time?”

And while all of my friends tell me how jealous they are of my travels, and how they wish they could do the same, I sometimes find myself envious of them in return. They have their goals figured out; their five year plans are still intact. They’re climbing the corporate ladder I once was climbing. You could say it’s a classic case of the tired cliche, “The grass is always greener on the other side,” but I’ve been on both sides of the grass and I actually can’t tell which side is greener.

I still want to climb the corporate ladder. I still want to work and make lots of money and make a name for myself and have responsibility and have a reputation for being the best at my profession. And admittedly petty, I want to have a great job to boast to my friends about.

But I also want to see the world and carelessly travel on my own time and my own pace.

This is now my dilemma, and it’s not a dilemma I want. Do I travel now and risk my career advancement or do I focus on building an illustrious career and hope to travel later? Ideally, I’d find the perfect situation, one where I get to travel and advance my career, but that’s much easier typed than done.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder what my life would be like had I never quit my first job to travel. Perhaps I’ve been promoted a few times. Maybe I’m settling down with that lovely lady. Maybe I’m even looking into buying property in LA. I guess we’ll never know.

What I do know, however, is that one city will never be enough for me now. One country well never be enough for me now. Shit, maybe even the world won’t be enough for me now.

And that’s all because I decided to travel.