From Missed Flights to Life Lessons: Why I Keep Packing My Bags

I love to travel. It feeds my soul. Of course, it takes money, time, and resources to plan, execute, and navigate the flights, time zones, sleeping arrangements, culture, food, and smells—not to mention all the sights and sounds.

I love every part, with one exception: getting to the airport. That part is stressful. Traffic in the Vancouver lower mainland is impossible to predict, so I’m always anxious to arrive super early. Even though we only travel with carry-on (ask me how to pack for a month with just one bag!), check in online 24 hours before, and have Nexus to minimize security waits—I still worry about showing up late. We’ve even missed a couple of flights through no fault of our own, which hasn’t exactly helped my anxiety.

I’d much rather sit in the airport for a couple of hours, knowing we have plenty of time to relax and stretch our legs, before squeezing into economy seats, trapped for the next few hours, just hoping there are no rude people or screaming children.

That said, we may have been a little too relaxed the last time we flew from Calgary to Abbotsford. The plane was fully boarded before we heard the announcement: “last call.” How we managed to miss the first five calls is still baffling to me.

I’ve often wondered why I feel compelled to travel. Why am I not content to simply stay home? I love my home. I love where I live (except in January—don’t get me started).

My dad loved to travel, and all my siblings do too, so it’s clearly in the family. But on a physiological level, I’ve wondered why, just a couple of months after returning, I grow restless and start planning the next trip. I used to feel guilty about it. Was I being irresponsible with our money, or with the time it takes to plan and travel?

Eventually, I accepted the truth: travel is part of my self-care. My Chronic Fatigue almost goes into remission whenever I’m away. I feel new breath and life pouring into me. Yes, it takes a toll and extra time to recover once I’m home, but it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.

Exploring new places—not just their beauty, but their cultures and people—broadens my understanding of the world. We’ve had incredible conversations with strangers that sometimes turn into lifelong friendships. Travel is also an opportunity to be generous and kind to hardworking guides, hotel staff, and servers. In some small way, we’re helping them provide for their families, and that matters.

Friends in Tanzania told us how tourism collapsed during the pandemic, leaving them struggling just to put food on the table. With no government handouts or safety nets, and a population of 68.5 million, survival was a daily challenge. I was amazed by their ingenuity and resourcefulness. They inspired me deeply. It also made me profoundly grateful for where we live. It’s not perfect, but the resources we have when we need help should never be taken for granted.

No news article—if one even existed—could have taught me this with the same weight. Nothing compares to the lasting impact of hearing the struggles firsthand from friends who actually lived through it.

Now, as we prepare for our next adventure, I can’t wait to dip my toes into warm sand, soak up vitamin D in the hot sun, listen to birds and animals, hear different languages, and breathe in the ocean and jungle air—mixed with whatever delicious smells are waiting.

I am so grateful for these opportunities. I’ll be paying close attention to the stories and lessons along the way and perhaps share them with you later.

What about you? Do you love to travel, or does the thought of it leave you in a panic?