In Conclusion

It’s been three weeks since I landed at JFK and checked into my short-term rental, the owner of which took one look at my backpack and promptly asked “where are all your things.” Then I documented the final moment in which the entirety of my possessions encompassed a small bag:

On the flight from Kuwait to New York I had laid flat across an empty economy class row, which yielded more of a bed than a business class ticket. I thought to myself, “I’ve earned this,” recalling all sorts of memories, including an overnight ferry up the Amazon River to the Colombian border, during which I’d tried to sleep in a wooden, non-reclining seat, amidst engine noise far too loud for headphones.  

Since returning home, I’m constantly recollecting various memories from my travels. I also think often of broader reflections from my time abroad, and wrote this blog predominantly for myself, to organize and keep record of these reflections. For those interested, here they are, in no particular order: 

Shared experiences matter more than I realized.

If I were to list my favorite moments from the past year, there would be a noteworthy exclusion: summiting Chimborazo, which at 20,500ft, is the highest mountain I’ve ever summitted. I reached the top alone with a local guide, and we were the only two people on the mountain that day. Conversely, topping the list would be the moment I reached the 19,970ft summit of Huayna Potosí with a group of fellow solo travelers, including a few who had become close friends in the months prior. My guide captured a video of the moment we reached the top together, which I’ve shared before, but here it is again: 

Reflecting on Chimborazo and Huayna Potosi, the key takeaway is obvious: shared experiences are often significantly more fulfilling. To quote the protagonist of a favorite book of mine: “happiness is only real when shared.” I think he might be right. 

I was deeply lonely exactly twice: my first week in both Uruguay and Colombia. I distinctly remember the feeling, and while it totally sucked, I’m grateful for having felt it. I emerged with an even stronger appreciation for the importance of companionship, particularly while solo traveling. Having left my job to roam around the world alone, it was immensely comforting to find others doing the exact same, and share in the experience together. 

Routine isn’t so bad after all. 

I recently resumed the infamous Manhattan rush hour commute, flowing from subway to office amongst hoards of fellow commuters. I used to detest this specific scene, since it symbolized the uniformity of my daily routine, and I struggled to accept the fact that this uniformity would likely exist well into the future. Interestingly, since returning to work, my disdain for the rush hour scene has completely vanished. The commuters are energizing to observe, and I’m excited to have rejoined them.

For a year I embraced a completely different lifestyle, which lacked any sense of routine or familiarity. I slept in a new bed every few days, and often awoke with no idea where I’d sleep that night. More than once, I wasn’t even sure what country I’d be in by end of day. It took a few months, but eventually this all felt very normal, and my new lifestyle enabled an appreciation of my old one.

Reflecting on my travels, I’ve come to realize that after a few months on the road, I began to actively seek familiarity with places and people, which is the exact essence of routine. For example, I loved returning to the same coffee shop each morning in Buenos Aires and staying in the same Kathmandu apartment after various adventures in rural Nepal. Similarly, I was always thrilled to bump into fellow travelers whom I’d previously met elsewhere. Amidst a lifestyle that catered towards short-term friendships, the repeat interactions were wonderful. Ironically, I sought comfort and satisfaction in what I had been most excited to live without: routine. I hadn’t previously appreciated the extent to which it can be fulfilling.

A job can provide a lot more than just a paycheck. 

In South America, where I roamed for the first seven months of the year, I didn’t miss working one bit. I was fully encompassed in the freedom and intrigue of my new lifestyle. But as one might expect, the novelty faded, and I can pinpoint the exact moment in which this occurred. I had just returned to Islamabad from a climbing expedition and had no plan for onward travel. In theory, I could fly anywhere in the world, but the only place I wanted to go was home. I knew I’d likely spend the rest of my life in the United States (vacations aside), so justifying an early return was simply not possible, and I booked a flight to Nepal instead. I stayed three months in Nepal, essentially awaiting the arrival of the date I’d agreed to start work. I had some incredible adventures in Nepal, but also spent about four weeks hanging around the capital of Kathmandu. It was during these weeks that I came to appreciate the value of a career, beyond the obvious financial component. 

I was often bored in Kathmandu, which was never an issue in South America, where I was on the move every few days and exploring new places was still a novelty. But when the novelty wore off, the boredom set in, and I became familiar with a feeling I despised: lacking in purpose. In New York, my career had provided the sense of purpose I was craving in Nepal. It had also provided intellectual stimulation, community, and close friendships. Investment Banking has its pitfalls, but on these dimensions in particular, it tends to deliver more than many other career choices. I found myself missing not just any job, but specifically the job I’d had. 

I spent many hours in a Kathmandu coffee shop, watching a friend work on his business and feeling legitimate jealously alongside the lack in purpose. I’ve made a conscious effort to distinctly remember this feeling, as I am sure it can be used to my advantage in late nights at the office. 

Limitations are often self imposed.  

Here’s another story from Huayna Potosí: about one hour from the summit, the trail became the stuff of my nightmares. As you can somewhat tell from the photo below, had we slid off the cliff on the left (which wouldn’t actually be that hard to do), we would have then slid thousands of feet down the mountain, probably to our deaths:

I looked at James, my friend and climbing partner, and told him that I was too scared and could not continue. I really meant it, and distinctly recall thinking to myself, there’s no way I can do this. He responded with a comment that was simple but memorable: “I’m scared too, but we’re just going to do it anyways.” As James proposed, we did it anyways, and reached the summit shortly thereafter:

On the Huayna Potosi summit ridge I had a cliche but powerful realization: limitations are often self imposed. I would have been lucky to have had just one such experience, but Huayna Potosí was one of about seven key experiences that expanded my perception of my own capabilities. Elsewhere on the blog I’ve described these experiences in greater detail, so I won’t do so again here, but I will say that not all of them were physical challenges in the mountains. Actually, the greatest example of all is the ten day silent meditation course, which was predominantly a mental challenge. Another example is the journey up the Paraguay River on a cargo boat, which was earlier in my travels, when I had yet to adjust to exploring remote regions by unconventional means of transit. I didn’t think I was capable of traveling so far outside my comfort zone on so many dimensions, but I was wrong:  

I recently caught up with a friend who had once fasted for ten consecutive days. I instinctively replied, “I could never do that.” Then I thought for a moment and changed my statement: “I have no desire to do that, but I definitely could.”  I learned a thing or two abroad.

In Conclusion

When I set out a year ago, I wasn’t searching for anything in particular. I didn’t feel the need to ‘find myself,’ or to learn or grow in any specific way. Instead, I had a hunch that if I set off with time and a small backpack, I could have a really great time and find some cool things (I just didn’t know what things). Reflecting on the trip, the main things I found are the insights I’ve listed above. They are legitimately priceless, and have already served me well in my return to New York. I’ve also returned with an abundance of incredible memories that are a very real source of happiness, as they randomly come to mind throughout the day and make me smile or laugh. 

Without an ounce of doubt, leaving the workforce to travel for a year was the single best decision I’ve ever made. 

This should be my final post, unless I go traveling for a second time, but as of now I have absolutely no plans to do so. On the contrary, I’m as satisfied as one can possibly be with the experience that I’ve had, and ready to continue building a life and career in New York. 

As always, thanks for following. 

Holly