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THIS HAPPENED TO ME
Travel Is No Cure for the Mind
Why crossing borders won’t fix your inner world
I used to think my anxiety would dissolve somewhere between takeoff and landing.
Spoiler alert
It doesn’t work that way.
Last summer, I found myself sitting on a pristine beach in Bali — you know, one of those Instagram-worthy spots where the sand looks like powdered sugar and the water sparkles like someone spilled diamonds in it.
Perfect, right? Except my mind was busy running its usual marathon of worries while my body was supposedly in paradise. Talk about a party pooper.
Here’s the thing nobody’s travel blog will tell you: your mind is the world’s most determined stowaway. It doesn’t need a passport, and it definitely doesn’t respect geographical boundaries. You can’t ghost your thoughts by crossing time zones.
Think about it — when was the last time you heard someone say, “I took a trip to Paris, and poof! All my deep-seated issues magically disappeared!” Yeah, me neither.
Yet somehow, we’ve bought into this idea that travel is some sort of emotional car wash that’ll leave us squeaky clean and problem-free.
