I don’t travel to escape.
I travel to remember.
To reconnect.
To feel the pulse of life again.
People always assume travelling is running away from something — stress, routine, responsibility. Maybe for some people it is. There’s nothing wrong with that. For a lot of parents, the pool is the escape. It’s safe, still, contained. A place where you can finally switch off, let the kids splash without fear, and pretend just for a moment that life isn’t constantly asking something from you.
I get it.
I’ve done it.
And sometimes you need that.
But me?
I’m drawn to the sea.
Not the tidy version. Not the controlled version. Not the “order a cocktail and lie down for six hours” version.
The real sea.
The waves that don’t ask your permission.
The salt that stings your legs.
The sand that refuses to shake off your skin.
The water that reminds you you’re small, but you’re alive.
The beach isn’t an escape.
It’s life.
It’s messy and loud and unpredictable. Just like everything I’m trying to learn how to hold.
It’s where my kids have run wild for hours on end.
It’s where my thoughts settle.
It’s where I feel myself again.
That’s why I travel.
Not to run away from my life…
but to run towards the parts that remind me I’m still in it.
So.. maybe that’s why, the older I get, the more the sea calls me. Not because I’m trying to escape anything… but because I’m finally learning to walk toward the parts of life that feel real.
The parts that wake me up.
The parts that remind me I’m still here, still moving, still becoming.
I don’t travel to run away — I travel to come home to myself again.
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