Why do I Travel?

So, why do I travel?

To see beyond what I already know.
To meet myself in the unfamiliar.
To remember that the world is bigger than my fears make it seem.

And that I am too.

Travel has always been one of my favorite ways to experience the world. And yet, lately, I find myself asking a deeper question: why do I really travel?
Is it a form of escape?

Sometimes it feels like I travel to escape from myself.
From my life.
From my anxieties.
From routine, uncertainty, exhaustion, and monotony.
A pause when life starts to feel heavy. And maybe that’s true. Maybe sometimes I travel simply because I need a change of air. And that’s okay.

But I’ve also learned something important along the way: my emptiness, my questions, my fears — they always travel with me. There is no distance far enough to leave behind what lives inside. Wherever I go, I arrive as myself.

So if everything that I am comes with me, then let travel not be an escape — but a search.

Travel feels like opening a window in a room I’ve been closed into for too long. And in that fresh air — in unfamiliar landscapes, unknown scents, new rhythms — I begin to notice parts of myself I couldn’t see before. Traveling becomes a mirror, reflecting many versions of who I am.

Today, I travel to discover other versions of myself. Or perhaps not versions, but possibilities. Because every place I visit doesn’t just show me a new landscape — it shows me a new way of being. Sometimes, by observing how others live, I discover ways of living that feel more aligned. New ways of loving, working, resting, and relating to the world — ways that resonate more deeply with my essence.

Travel is movement. And movement often invites release.
Release of identities that no longer serve me, that feel heavy, yet familiar.
Release of the belief that there is only one possible path.
Because when I change coordinates, my perception of the world expands — and so does my perception of myself.

Symbolically, traveling is leaving one place to arrive at another. And as cliché as it may sound, the same happens within us. The version of yourself that boards the first plane is never the same one that boards the last flight back home.

Travel has taught me that identity is not static. That who I am transforms with every place I inhabit — even if only for a moment. I was lucky to grow up in a family that saw travel as a form of education more valuable than school or university. From a very young age, traveling with intention became a family ritual.

A road trip through California in a camping car helped me navigate my first heartbreak — giving me space, perspective, and permission to feel everything. Living in Montreal taught me how to be alone — truly alone — in a way that deepened my appreciation for friendships and relationships rooted in time and care. Life in Barcelona allowed me to see myself outside of my role, my family system, and what I believed my identity to be — only to realize it was just one layer of many. And my most recent journey through Italy reminded me that time can move more slowly, and that within a slower rhythm there is more presence, more enjoyment, and more energy for what truly matters.

And then there is Colombia.
A land that reveals itself slowly, through rhythm rather than rush.
The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, rising from the sea to snow-capped peaks, holds an ancient, quiet wisdom. Its energy is subtle but powerful — a reminder that healing doesn’t always arrive with noise, but through presence, silence, and deep listening. Walking its paths feels like being gently recalibrated, as if the body remembers something it had forgotten.

And then, the Eje Cafetero — soft mountains painted in green, a land of harmony and balance. Here, life feels held. The rhythm is kind, the people grounded, and the days unfold with a reassuring sense of order. It’s a place that invites trust — in the land, in others, and in yourself. Where safety opens the door to creativity, rest, and simple joy.

Together, these landscapes teach us that there are many ways of being Colombian — and many ways of being human. One rooted in ancestral depth and spiritual connection; the other in presence, warmth, and the beauty of everyday life. Two territories, different in form yet united in essence, both inviting us to slow down, soften, and return to what truly matters.

So, why do I travel?

To see beyond what I already know.
To meet myself in the unfamiliar.
To remember that the world is bigger than my fears make it seem.

And that I am, too.