I know. We’re all scrolling…
Everything feels fast now. Reels, TikToks, quick clips where you can pass through five countries in the time it takes to finish your coffee. And I do get the appeal of that. There’s a lot of creativity in those little windows into people’s lives. But I think something gets lost when everything is condensed down like that.
That’s probably why I still find myself coming back to long-form.
Because for me, travel has never felt like something that can be captured in a moment. It’s slower than that. It’s layered. It’s the smell of street food mixing with traffic, the conversation you only half understand but somehow remember years later, the quiet hours in between everything else.
Those are the things that stay.
And they don’t always translate into a reel. Not really. But writing gives them space. It lets things unfold at their own pace, without trying to rush them into something more digestible.
That’s the kind of connection I care about creating.
I have a website, a Substack, and a Medium account, and I do share shorter pieces when it feels right. But the heart of what I do is still in the storytelling. Not overly polished, not trying to fit into anything, just honest reflections of places, people, and moments that have meant something to me.
When I write about a place, whether it’s a small town in Italy, my time teaching in China, or something more personal, I’m not just trying to describe it. I want someone to feel like they’re there, or at least recognize something of themselves in it.
That’s what makes long-form feel so important to me. It isn’t just about attention, it’s about presence. About staying with something long enough for it to actually mean something.
There’s a quote by Dervla Murphy that I come back to often: “Traveling, it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.” That’s always felt true. A photo might catch your eye, but it’s the story behind it that lingers.
And I think we need more of that. Things that linger, you know? In a world that moves as quickly as this one does, I find myself drawn to anything that asks you to slow down a little. To read something all the way through. To sit with it.
And if something I write can do that, even briefly, then that feels like enough. Because some journeys don’t want to be rushed.
They want to be told properly.
You’ve hit on something I’ve been feeling but couldn’t quite articulate. I’m guilty of the quick-scroll habit too, but you’re right—there’s a real difference between seeing a 15-second clip of someone at a beach and actually understanding what a place *feels* like. Long-form writing lets you sit with those details, the small moments that don’t make it into reels but somehow matter more. Travel especially deserves that kind of attention, I think.
I really relate to this. There’s something about long-form that just lets you actually *sit* with a place, you know? The quick clips are fun and all, but they feel more like highlight reels than actual travel. When I read something longer, I get a sense of what it’s really like to be somewhere—the mundane stuff, the unexpected moments, not just the Instagram-worthy shots. Definitely makes me want to slow down more.
I really liked your point about how scrolling through reels can make it feel like you’re “passing through five countries in the time it takes to finish your coffee.” That line captures so well why travel stories often need more space than a quick clip gives them. The idea that travel is “slower than that” really stuck with me.