He was a young man who for ninety-eight days, had travelled through Southeast Asia. He quit his job and left his home, searching for answers; though he could not explain what he was looking for. His loved ones understood he wanted to break from routine and leave his responsibilities behind to see what life looked like on the other side. To do this, he believed, he had to leave everything familiar behind. Travelling was nothing new to him. He had wandered through Europe, South America, and North America, but always with family or friends. Never before had he set off alone, with no clear destination in mind. No restrictions. Not even time. All he knew was that to answer the questions gnawing at his being, he had to step away from the life he had grown attached to.
In doing so, he crossed paths with others like him—wanderers seeking something just out of reach. When he first met the suave lady, he was staring out the window of a teahouse, lost in whatever consumed him. She greeted him as she had greeted countless others— with a radiant grin. Neither of them knew this would not be the last time their paths crossed.
The young man was of average height, lean but broad-shouldered. He let his hair grow long, assuming the familiar look of Western travellers in this part of the world. But unlike most fleeting encounters on the road, their conversations drifted beyond the usual—where they were from, where they had been, and where they were going. Instead, they spoke of meaning, purpose, and existence.
This was the fifth time they had run into each other. He sat in a café, reading Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha, watching the steady flow of scooters blur past. Her saffron-yellow sundress stood out among the knock-off Balenciaga and Calvin Klein, catching his attention. They greeted each other as familiar friends and exchanged stories of how they had arrived in this chaotic city.
“So where will you go next on your grand adventure?” the lady asked, placing her shot of espresso back on the table.
“I’m going home,” he said. “I’m satisfied I have found what I came for,”
The suave lady removed her sunhat and placed it on the table. “Well, that was anti-climactic.”
“I imagine you can now tell me the meaning of life, then?”
“Not quite, I’m afraid,” he said. “Though I appreciate the sarcasm.”
Wherever they met, she carried an effortless elegance, he thought. In the mountains, she had worn first-class hiking gear. Now, in the city, she sat in silk, asking the waiter where the café sourced its beans. With every sip of espresso, her sculpted face shifted subtly, as the flavours revealed more about themselves, he thought. But over time, he had come to see that beneath the polished exterior, there was much more to her.
They had first met three months ago, trekking through the mountains. He had been with a group; she had been alone. Their first conversation was over masala tea. Days later, they crossed paths again—an awkward encounter at a hot spring. Then again at a bus stop, boarding the same route out of the mountains. Each time, they peeled away a few more layers, revealing why they travelled.
“Alright then.” She smirked. “Let’s see if I was listening last time.”
“When we first met, you told me you had worked out your purpose in life. You knew what gave your life meaning, and so you followed it like a northern star—leading you straight to that teahouse.”
A smile crossed his lips whilst he heard his own words repeated back to him. “Yes, that’s right,” he said.
“But I see now—I was wrong.” The smile evaporated as those words left his mouth.
Sensing more to the story, the suave lady waved over a waiter. “I’ll have another espresso. And whatever he’d like.”
“A flat white for me, please” he said.
She interlaced her fingers and leaned forward. “My afternoon is wide open—until my massage at five.” Her voice was teasing but expectant. “I’d love to hear why.”
“Alright, settle in.” He exhaled, settling into his chair.
“When we last saw each other, I believed my purpose was to do more of what gives me fulfilment. I already knew I found it in great people, great experiences, and great places.”
“By travelling, I figured I could have it all—the life I had always dreamed of.”
His face winced. “Yeah… that was naïve of me to believe.”
In their last meeting, she had passed him entering a temple. He had shown her his method—how he checked every box on the path to perfection. On his phone, he kept a spreadsheet. Each date listed his next destination, the sights to see, where to stay, and how to get there. For weeks, he treated it like a map. It reassured him—if everything was planned, nothing could catch him off guard.
At every stop, he checked off the must-see attractions. He walked beneath waterfalls, snorkelled with sea life, and dined at the highest-rated restaurants on Google Maps. He grew familiar with buses and scooters, moving through the country like clockwork. In museums, he learned of wars that shaped the land. In palaces, he walked the same halls as dead kings and their advisors. Nowadays, the only footsteps are from the trample of tourists, he thought. Temples became a familiar sight. Their doors were always open, and inside, he would avert his gaze from locals who whispered soft chants whilst he smothered feelings of intrusion.
The suave lady’s approach to travel was the opposite. No spreadsheet. No maps. No bookings. She found a bed when she needed one and moved with the wind. The last time they had met, she had been looking for something he had mentioned—a silent meditation retreat. No online booking. No guided tours. No phone number. You just had to turn up. Though not one for religion or spirituality, she had been curious to see what drew people there.
She took a sip of espresso. “Why was it naïve?”
He exhaled. “I thought I had worked it out: optimise for happiness, and happiness would follow. But I was wrong.”
“I always had the next week planned out. I booked the best hostels in advance. I only ate at well-reviewed restaurants to avoid food poisoning. I studied backpacker videos to find the best experiences. It was an efficient operation. And in that respect, it worked.”
“At first, I loved it. I felt in control. I knew I had a bed to sleep in, a plan for the next day, and a meal that wouldn’t make me ill.”
The spreadsheet had ensured every day was rich in potential—new experiences, new faces, new places. He met people who fascinated him. Some, like the suave lady, exuded confidence. Others held stories that peeled back layers of the world he thought he understood. He visited places he had dreamed of. He swam through caves, kayaked along the coast, and rode scooters across the countryside.
He sighed. “But after a month, I felt hollow.”
“I was visiting incredible places, having amazing experiences, and meeting wonderful people.” He hesitated. “Every box was checked—but I wasn’t fulfilled like I expected.”
He stared down at his coffee. “It’s not that I was sad. Or miserable. Just… empty. Like I was stuffing myself with noodles and rice, but never getting full.”
“I’d reach a new high—and then see it vanish in an instant.”
“So I started cramming in more and more. But the more I filled the bucket, the more it leaked from the bottom.”
Eventually, everything blurred together. Mountains took on the same shape. Rice paddies stretched without end in every direction. Bike rides became routine. Even the people—though different in name, voice, and manner—often carried the same well-worn backpacker story.
“It was exhausting.”
He shook his head. “I endured it for a while, searching for answers to why it wasn’t working.”
It wasn’t until he found himself sitting on a train for fourteen hours that the penny fell at last.
“The root of my struggle was staring at me the entire time.”
He exhaled. “I had oversimplified purpose—reduced it to a checklist. I thought I could explain it with words, like I did when we first met. But those words only captured a fraction of what purpose is.”
“And yet I clung to them as if they were truth, only to realise the path felt wrong.”
The waiter arrived, setting down their drinks and a bottle of water. He picked up his cup, turning it with care between his fingers.
“But it took walking that path to see I had been misguided.”
For a while, the spreadsheet had served its purpose—just not the one he had intended. It gave him structure, and a sense of control when uncertainty loomed. It was a compass in the storm. But once the waters calmed, he no longer needed it. There were other instruments, ones that offered a truer sense of direction.
The suave lady tilted her head. “What did it feel like when you realised that?”
His lips curled into a slow smile, the creases easing from his face. He leaned back into his chair.
“Like I was free.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Free?”
“What once gave me comfort had become a cage. As odd as it sounds, I felt free from the very constraints I had built for myself.”
She leaned forward. “But did you not feel lost without it?”
He met her gaze. “No.” A pause. “In fact, quite the opposite.”
“For the first time in a long time, I trusted my instinct over my rational brain.”
The suave lady was no stranger to acting on instinct. Over a pot of masala tea, she had told him about her journey—from the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to the sprawling city skyline. Most of her childhood memories were of hunting trips with her father, tracking game beneath snow-capped peaks. There had been no mention of her mother, the young man recalled.
As she grew older, her father encouraged her ambitions, supporting her through college. A move to the city followed, then a commercial law career. For a decade, she climbed the corporate ladder, chasing a future she had once been certain of. But as time passed, her passion faded, and she transitioned into a professorship at a local college. Years later, she earned tenure.
Then, her father fell ill. She took a twelve-month sabbatical—one of the perks of the job—to care for him. She returned to the countryside, tending to him as his health declined. Six months later, he passed away. By the time she had settled his estate, half of her sabbatical remained. With no plans, she chose to travel.
At first, she considered a different kind of escape—packing silk dresses and heading to Europe, sipping espresso in grand cafés, watching the opera, and dining in Michelin-starred restaurants. But something pulled her elsewhere. Perhaps it was her father’s influence or a longing for the mountains of her childhood. Instead, she chose a different path—one of dust, altitude, and solitude.
She booked nothing. Planned nothing. She read about high-altitude trekking on the flight, asked locals for recommendations, and met fellow hikers in bars to find out where they were going. That became her starting point. The rest, she figured out along the way, guided by the roads and strangers who crossed her path. The final step was simple—grab a map, stock up on supplies, and follow the stream of buses and 4x4s heading toward the mountains.
She took a slow sip of espresso. “What was your gut telling you?”
He exhaled. “Take a break.”
“There was a book I read on the trek that I adored.” He traced a fingertip around the rim of his cup. “It’s called Consolations of the Forest. The author spent six months alone in a cabin on Lake Baikal, with nothing but books, cigars, and vodka.”
“I toyed with the idea of doing the same, but I can’t hunt, can’t fish, and I have no idea how to survive sub-zero temperatures.” He smirked. “Copying him would have been stupid.”
“But something—my gut, I suppose—told me I wanted to be alone. I needed space to breathe, both in mind and body.”
“I considered leaving the country. Even the continent. But I was already thousands of miles from home.” He set his cup down. “In truth, all I needed was a place far enough away from civilisation. Somewhere still, where the world could quieten for a while.”
The young man found a cabin in the jungle and set off. It was far enough from civilisation to be alone, but not so far that he had abandoned it altogether. His hut still had the luxury of running water, a fridge, and bananas ripening in the garden. It wasn’t quite a cabin amidst a Siberian Winter, he thought – but it was far from the comfort he was used to.
“I had become so familiar with my jam-packed routine that once I arrived, I didn’t know what to do,” he said.
“For the first time in months, I had nothing but time—and it overwhelmed me.”
He shook his head. “I had spent so long planning every step of my trip. Now, with no schedule, I felt lost.”
“That caught me off guard. I thought I’d settle in with ease, that I’d have the breathing room I craved.”
He exhaled. “Instead, on that first night, anxiety crippled me. I worried about everything. The roof creaked, and I fixated on the reptiles crawling above me—who I assumed, were waiting to strike.”
“One worry led to another. I doubted whether I had brought enough food, despite my fridge being full. I worried mosquitoes would sneak in, despite the nets on every window. When a spider appeared in the toilet, my brain jumped to the worst conclusion—it had to be poisonous.”
Laughter escaped him as he spoke. “You get my point… it’s wild to look back on how all my hopes and expectations turned to regret and doubt within the space of an afternoon.”
“And after the first night?” she asked.
He glanced down at his coffee, then back up with a small smile.
“By morning, the echo of negative thoughts had vanished,” he said. “They faded into the night, never to be seen again,”
“I got out of bed, meditated for an hour, ate breakfast on the balcony, and listened to the jungle in peace.”
The suave lady adjusted her hat and leaned forward. “As easy as that?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“But something about how I viewed the world changed overnight. What had seemed to me grey and murky became bright and clear.”
“It wasn’t the result of something I did. I believe it came from getting used to the discomfort I found myself in.”
“I was out of my comfort zone, and my brain reacted as it always does—trying to think its way out of the situation. It fed me fear, doubt, and irrational worries; I was grasping for answers to matters which existed only in my head.”
“When none of them came true, they eased on their own, fading as I slept.”
He let out a breath. “Looking back, I see now—none of it was real. My mind had conjured a storm that didn’t exist.”
For two weeks, he did as he had intended. He stopped following others and chose his own way. It was far simpler than he had once imagined. No grand adventure. No expectation to meet fascinating people. All he wanted was space—to write, to read, to cook, to meditate, and to run.
At sunset, when the jungle came alive, he no longer cowered behind the mosquito netting. He sat on the balcony, watching the light ebb away. The reptiles on his ceiling, once sinister, now fascinated him. He watched as they caught the insects creeping through the rafters. When he heard scratching at the door, he listened instead of panicking. On his morning runs, he ran with stray dogs for a while, until they conceded he had no food to share. He let the days unfold, writing whatever was on his mind, reading whatever interested him, and kept in touch with his loved ones back home.
“I learned then how my doubts, fears, and even hopes and dreams can distort my view of reality,” he said.
“For example. my thoughts often drifted to the future—what I would do when this journey ended. Sometimes, that filled me with excitement. Other times, it terrified me.”
“With the thought present, it would stir my emotions, and colour my experience of everything around me,”
“But then my attention would return to where I was. I’d hear the croak of Tokay geckos in the undergrowth and laugh at how lost in my own head I had been.”
The lady laughed. “It sounds exhausting just listening to you talk about it.”
“Right?” he said, shaking his head.
“So once you realised most of your thoughts were bullshit, what changed?” she said.
“I practised being present. Thoughts do have a purpose, and I accepted that truth—but I didn’t have to become so attached to them.”
“Fortunately, I was in the perfect place to practise—and to work on being more aware of the world around me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How do you even do that?”
“Simple.” He smiled. “Focus on what you see, hear, feel, taste, and smell. Thoughts will come, they always do. But rather than get lost in the thought, instead, you observe it, watch it fade, then return your focus to whatever is present at that moment.”
The chair creaked as the suave lady leaned back. “Why does your brain even work like that?”
“I’ve done it without realising for most of my life,” he said. “It was how I learned to navigate the world when I was younger. Back then, thoughts told me what to do, how to behave, and how to fit in.”
“They protected me. Stopped me from making mistakes. Helped me to belong.”
He exhaled. “But I outgrew that a long time ago—yet my brain never did. Changing a lifetime of habits takes practice, persistence, and patience.”
He carried this belief with him from the cabin. His instinct pulled him south, back to civilisation. He settled into a city for a few days, enjoying its slow rhythm—so he stayed a little longer. He kept up with the things he loved: writing, reading, and running. When he felt the pull again, he moved east, taking his pen, books, and running shoes across the border, into a neighbouring country and beyond.
Where he was going no longer mattered—only what interested him. Making space for what he loved, and following his instinct led the way. His thoughts still came and went, as they always would, but he no longer clung to them. He allowed them to flow past, resisting the urge to turn them into something more than they were.
“In truth, I didn’t feel the need to keep travelling,” he said. “In my gut, I believed I had found what I was looking for.”
“I could have flown home then, satisfied that my journey had served its purpose.”
“But for one rare moment, I had the gift of time.”
“There were two choices. Continue on until life called me home. Or return now, carrying with me everything I had learned.”
The question lingered between them. The suave lady let a moment pass before she spoke. “So why go on?”
He exhaled. “Because I knew how lucky I was to even have this choice.”
“To be free of responsibility, to wake up every day and do as I pleased.”
“This was a moment to cherish – for as long as it might last. Sooner or later, something would call me back. Or I’d run out of money.”
“The life I put on pause would always be there, waiting for me to resume it. But this freedom—this space to exist in simplicity—would end.”
“So until that day arrived, I would follow where the road led—and see what else I might learn along the way.”
The suave lady was no stranger to this. Unlike the young man, she didn’t dwell on thoughts—she acted. If she wanted something, she took it. Instinct ruled her decisions. For most of her adult life, that instinct had led her to material wealth. Fancy clothes, sparkling jewellery, a city condo, plus an elaborate self-care routine. Every purchase gave her a spark of happiness—until it faded. Then came the next urge, the next pursuit, and another fleeting moment of satisfaction.
Her father’s decline broke the cycle.
For six months, she cooked his meals, did his shopping, and sat by his bedside whilst they shared stories. When possible, they went for walks, following trails they once trod decades ago. She found a happiness so pure and brilliant that it eclipsed even the finest necklace on her dresser.
When winter waned, he passed away, and with him, that happiness faded.
She was left with a blank slate. Half a year stretched before her. And so, with no plan, her instinct led her to the unknown of Asia—away from the world she had spent years building.
Far from the swanky restaurants and high-end cafés she once frequented, she felt the pull of a different path. In following that impulse, she entered a world she had never noticed before.
She turned to the young man. “Well, I assume you’ve had your calling to return home then. So tell me—what’s one piece of advice for someone with three months on her hands and a clean slate to work from?”
The young man stroked the beard that had grown wild over a few carefree months.
“Find beauty in every moment—because once it passes, you’ll never experience it again.”
“Cherish wherever the next three months lead you,” he said. “Whether you find yourself staring into a volcano or sitting in a mud hut, savour it.”
“You already trust your instinct. I know you’ll follow it, like an elephant seeking a watering hole.”
“But wherever it leads you—even if it’s somewhere unexpected—appreciate it.”
These words came to him with conviction. For the last two months, he had committed himself to them. Knowing he would be called home soon, he set about savouring wherever his own journey led. With time his only restraint, he took buses and trains east, watching the world—its nature, its people—as he moved. Some days, he wandered through ruined cities, their temples veiled by roots and vines. Other days, he found quiet corners to write. When he was content, he kept going.
Wherever he went, he found solace following what interested him. He walked unfamiliar streets, watching locals go about their lives. When something caught his attention, he wandered that way. On occasion, he got lost down backstreets, past doorways where families sat watching television, bemused at the sight of a foreigner so far from the tourist centre.
When he was ready, he followed the pull east. He wasn’t sure why—there was little he wanted to see there. Yet the urge persisted, so he followed it. He found himself in a dense, chaotic city, the air thick with fumes, the streets swelling with scooters and motorbikes. He let go of his expectations, learning to appreciate the ecosystem of the urban sprawl as he would a jungle or mountain.
In the mornings, the city stirred like a dawn chorus—workers hurrying to their jobs, engines humming in unison. The rhythm never stopped. By night, the streets filled with voices, the rasp of karaoke machines, and the clink of beer glasses. The people worked fourteen-hour days to provide for their families, their effort lingering in the air like the metallic taste of exhaust fumes. The city never took a moment to rest, he thought.
If beauty could be found in a polluted city, then perhaps it could be found anywhere.
Through the locals he met, he learned of places they loved, and places they longed to visit. Their stories led him north, toward the mountains. Along the way, he wandered through ancient capitals and pilgrimage sites, where locals paid their respects to ancestors long gone. He explored caves that stretched for miles underground. When he reached limestone peaks that jutted from the earth like shards of glass, the stifling heat subsided for the first time in months. Even in an unfamiliar landscape, he was met with the same warmth, the same quiet hospitality.
And it was there, as the air cooled around him, that the call to come home arrived.
For a brief moment, time felt like a restraint. Then, like all other thoughts, it faded.
He had two weeks left. He would appreciate them, just as he had the last. But it would not end there. For the first time, a readiness appeared in his gut.
“Appreciating this moment, every moment, does not end when you fly home,” he said.
“It is not exclusive to travel; if anything, I believe it is even more important to embrace it in our day-to-day lives.”
“We so often live our lives by routine, consumed by work, exhausted by our families, desperate for moments to relax,” he said.
“And when we are immersed in all we are responsible for, we lose touch with all we are fortunate to already have in our lives.”
“It is all too easy to become attached to desire—to want a bigger house, more friends, a more considerate family, new clothes, and so on,” he said.
“But when we dream of what we want our futures to look like, we forget how special our current lives are.”
“I believe we should show our gratitude to our families and friends, because we never know when it will be the last time we see them.”
“I believe we should find meaning in our work, because it is what provides us with food, water, shelter, and warmth.”
“I believe we should appreciate every moment, because beauty exists in all of them. We need only open our awareness to it.”
“Go ahead; take a moment now to be aware of all you have. Your family, your friends, your home, your job—even the clothes you wear,” he said.
The final days of travel were some of the best, the young man thought. Free from responsibility, with an hourglass seeping away, he became immersed wherever he went. Most of it, he spent drifting—some days on the back of a motorbike, weaving through mountainous roads. Other days, he took a bicycle and rode in one direction, losing himself in the scenery—even if it was just a patchwork of rice paddies. Through it all, writing was ever-present, and the words he wrote gave some form to this piece.
The waiter laid a thin leather book on the table and reminded them they would be closing soon.
The suave lady placed a few notes inside and slid her glasses back into their case. “Well, thank you. There’s a few extra knots my massage is going to need to work through now,” she said.
“But where will you go next?” he said. “Other than the massage, of course.”
She smirked. “I’ll keep drifting for a while. Maybe take a few yoga classes, sip a few cocktails down by the beach.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said. “But after that?”
The suave lady cleared her throat, her smirk lingering. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this,” she said.
“Travel does not solve your problems.”
“No matter how far you go or how long you stay away, travel alone won’t give you the fulfilment you’re looking for.”
“It can put your troubles aside for a moment, sure. But they follow you everywhere.”
“You can change your surroundings all you like, but you can never change who you are,” she said.
The pair sat in silence as the final streaks of sunlight faded behind the café. The words spoke truth for the young man. Travel was, and is, an act of discovery. He, like most, had set out with expectations—of what he might find, of what might change. Yet it is rare for reality to align with expectation. When he first stepped onto that plane, he hoped travel would provide the answers to a life of happiness. As if it were some magical tonic, illuminating the way.
It was naïve to think life could be so simple, he realised. Rather than the answers he expected, he found something far greater. He was grateful to travel, but not just for each new experience. The finest gift travel could offer was to observe his own life with clarity. Only from a distance could he see how fortunate he had been all along. At home, love surrounded him—yet he had never stopped to savour it. He already knew what he loved doing, but too often he gave in to resistance, finding excuses not to act. Above all, he saw that life was not about becoming someone new, but about embracing who he already was.
Perhaps this was why he and the suave lady got along so well, he thought. He admired how she carried herself with utter self-belief. There was always an air of confidence about her, no matter the situation. Everything she decided to do, she did with conviction, accepting whatever obstacles lay ahead.
She leaned back, stretching her arms out, then smirked. “But with all that said, you’ve inspired me again.”
“I’ve been away from home for well over half a year now, and I have a few loved ones left I’d like to spend time with.”
She exhaled, shaking her head. “I haven’t always appreciated what I have—but I’ve always been good at getting what I want.”
“And after that, you might ask? I still have a few months on my hands, so maybe I’ll scoop up a few silk dresses and head to Italy. The humidity is less oppressive this time of year,” she said.
She rose from her chair, straightened her dress, and with the tip of her sun hat, offered a final parting smile.
“Farewell—and I hope our paths cross again one day,” she said.
*Thank you to the kindred souls, wherever you are today.