I used to be a checklist traveler.
The kind of person who lands in a new place with a carefully crafted list of things to do, see, taste, and capture before time runs out. I thought the more I fit in, the more meaningful the experience. I once spent four days in Vietnam and visited three cities. But if you asked me what any of them smelled like, or what the light looked like in the early morning, I wouldn’t have a clue.
That started to shift when I moved to China.
I was there to teach English, and the pace of life was different. One day, a friend handed me the keys to a moped. I had never driven one before. The streets were wild, the traffic constant, and I was terrified. But something changed the moment I started moving. I wasn’t just watching the city anymore. I was part of it.
That first moped ride taught me to look closer. To pay attention. To notice the world as it was happening, not just as something to get through.
That’s when I stopped chasing the next thing and started asking, What’s already here?
Later, when I was living in Italy, I started biking through hilltop towns and winding alleys, sometimes with no clear destination. There was something deeply grounding about getting lost on purpose. I’d ride slowly, stopping at fruit stalls and church steps, watching life unfold around me. I could feel the difference in my own body—less urgency, more ease.
In Switzerland, I took a small boat across Lake Lucerne. The water was calm and glassy, and the boat moved gently. I remember thinking how rare it is to simply sit still in motion, to travel without rushing. I still think about that crossing. It stayed with me in a way planes and trains never have.
Now, when I travel, I seek out those moments. I give myself permission to move slowly. I let myself wander. I choose walking paths over express routes and linger longer than I’m “supposed” to. I’ve come to realize that slowing down isn’t just about pace. It’s about presence.
It’s in that extra hour at a café, the quiet street at sunrise, the unexpected conversation with someone you hadn’t planned to meet. Those are the moments I remember.
As writer and explorer Freya Stark once said, “Travel does what good novelists also do to the life of everyday, placing it like a picture in a frame or a gem in its setting, so that the intrinsic qualities are made more clear.”
Slowing down helped me see those qualities more clearly. It changed the way I travel. And honestly, it changed me too.
And that might be the best thing that ever happened to my adventures.
