When I flew to Bangkok in May, I had no idea where I would be at the end of the year. I wasn’t sure where I was going, who I would meet, or what I would see. Over time, I gained a clearer sense of purpose and direction. My view of myself—and the world around me—has shifted. It’s been fun to learn so much and see so much, but I realized that I don’t want to be on a permanent vacation. Now that I know my time is limited, every moment feels more intense. I have the rest of my flights booked. It’s been a long journey, and while I’m looking forward to being home, there’s a part of me that’s dreading my return to the U.S.

MY SLOW JOURNEY THROUGH TAIWAN

This week, I’ve been meandering down the east coast of Taiwan. It definitely wasn’t somewhere I imagined I’d end up, but my attempt to wait out the peak of summer heat in Japan has brought me to maybe my favorite country yet. Most of the population is concentrated on the west side (and in Taipei), while the east has only a few large cities nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the mountains. It’s a mix of forest and rice fields, with waterfalls and rivers leading to black sand beaches by the sea. A woman I met at an interesting staffhouse/hostel on Waiao Beach warned me that “Taiwan isn’t known for its beaches,” but it ended up being my personal favorite beach of the trip so far, even topping those in Thailand.

My awe and excitement at losing myself in new foods, taking in views, and navigating complicated transit systems alone haven’t faded. But sitting above that is a layer of deep weariness, emotionally and physically. It weighs down on me and manifests in the way my backpack has gradually become heavier as my travels have gone on.

SLOW TRAVEL AND WEARINESS

I’ve entered a sleepy, slow period of my journey. Though I’m not a high-energy person, and I wouldn’t say I was ever bouncing around as a backpacker, in the earlier months, I could push myself more, fueled by the thrill of new places. Now, the days are slower, and rest pulls at me in a way I never expected. More than once this week, I’ve woken up only to close my eyes and doze off in a chair in a hostel common area or while sitting up in bed, completely unintentionally. I’ve never been a napper at any point in my life, so it’s such an odd sensation, but my body and spirit are tired. The brutal heat and humidity are crushing on a whole new level. I can go out for a few hours to explore, but the sun is so intense that I end up feeling irritated, delirious, and itchy. I cycle through days where I leave the hostel and stay out until dark and others where I struggle to do more than just go out and eat.

A few days ago, I wanted to go on a short hike near Hualien but didn’t have any transportation and was too stubborn to rent a bike or figure out how to get a taxi, so I walked 6 km each way to get to the forest. There’s so much you see on foot that you don’t experience when driving, but there’s also only so much heat you can take. I passed stores selling tools, produce, and household goods, saw vibrant temples, and kids getting out of school. At one point, I crossed a river and walked through an indigenous village not far from the trailhead. A boy, maybe nine years old, biked up to me and started asking questions in Mandarin. I stood there smiling, trying to respond with the almost zero Mandarin I know, but I had no clue what he was saying. There’s joy in this kind of interaction—part of me excited to try to connect with locals and let them learn more about me as a foreigner. The other part of me was counting the seconds until it was over and I was left standing alone, confused and awkward. Regardless, I embraced this moment, but the heaviness in my limbs reminded me how far I’d come—not just physically but mentally.

The trail was peaceful, lined with ferns and mostly covered by trees, providing a much-needed respite from the sun. It was under 1.5 km, but I ended up spending a couple of hours there, mostly sitting by the waterfall near the start of the trail. At first, there were many visitors, locals getting their close-up pictures with the falls before continuing on, but it quickly cleared out, and I had some alone time in the clearing. I’m continually reminded how lucky I am to be here, so far from home. For a second, I can feel fully present. I forget everything that’s happened so far, everything I have to do, and just appreciate being in such a special place in a remote section of Taiwan on the other side of the Pacific. It’s the closest I’ve gotten to a waterfall on this trip, and the cleanest and freshest one.

THE MENTAL AND PHYSICAL WEIGHT OF IT ALL

Despite the beauty and spiritual rejuvenation of all the nature, the 12 km round trip to the falls left me exhausted once I was back at the hostel. The damage on my body feels cumulative; it never feels like I’m resting somewhere long enough to fully recover. With less than six weeks left, I don’t think I even want to stay long enough to recover. My awe and desire to explore are at war with my body, which feels like it’s slogging around. It’s an odd sensation—I feel like I’m the most physically fit I’ve been in a long time, with all the walking, hiking, cycling, and carrying heavy gear. But my questionable diet, eating habits, and inconsistent sleep patterns have me operating at 60%.

Months of being a foreign-looking person who clearly stands out have worn on me too. Taiwan has been less intense, but traveling through Laos and Vietnam, I felt like an oddity. People didn’t respect my physical boundaries, constantly touching my arms or legs out of curiosity. I became desensitized to it. It’s so weird because I’ll talk about this with other backpackers, and no one else has really had this experience. I’m not 100% sure why—maybe it’s something to do with my height and non-threatening vibe? It feels like people are excited to see me and want to experience what a white person *physically* feels like. I have a new kind of respect for people who get treated like this all their lives.

I’ve gotten into a few uncomfortable situations and encountered some rude people, but generally, my interactions have been so warm. I’m comforted by how hospitable people are, how they try to communicate despite language barriers, and how they help me through all the embarrassing mistakes I make. When I left Laos to head to Vietnam, I was the only backpacker on the bus. I felt guilty for holding everyone up at the border because the agents had to take extra time to look through my documents and visa. Regardless, the driver helped me, walking me through each step and ensuring I didn’t have to pay any sort of bribe. Once we were in Vietnam, we stopped at a restaurant, and I was invited to the table where the driver bought us plates and plates of food to share: shrimp, tofu, pork, soups, and rice. We could barely understand each other, but I spoke the little Lao I knew and asked what the Vietnamese words were. Everyone was happy to help me and laugh at my pronunciation.

VIETNAM’S BEAUTY

I have complex feelings about my time in Vietnam, but it was a gorgeous country with diverse, fresh food and some of the most consistently amazing coffee I’ve ever had in my life. The value is hands down the best in Southeast Asia. I split my time between hotels and hostels, getting a good balance of social interaction and alone time. Everywhere I went was different—from the craziness and humidity of Saigon to the cold and rainy Da Lat, the coastal city of Da Nang, and the touristic but charming shopping town of Hoi An. I’ll never forget the taste of salt coffee (which I will definitely be making once I’m home), and sitting on tiny plastic stools in the heat of Hanoi eating the best pho of my life, dipping dough sticks in the broth, and sipping almost painfully bitter steeped iced tea.

There were many highlights, but if I had to pick one, it would be the few days I spent in Ninh Binh hanging out with a group of women I met, cycling through mountains and fields, eating vegan food, and relaxing by the pool chatting about travel and life. I had an uncomfortable, jarring overnight bus from Hue to get there, but once I arrived, it was a peaceful and social time between periods that were a bit more solitary. It reiterated for me that there are people I can easily connect with and a kind of socializing I feel rejuvenated by, sitting apart from the drinking culture that’s so common in the backpacker scene. After drinking in Laos and Hanoi, and hanging out at a party on Waiao mostly sober while others were inebriated, I no longer have any interest in having more than a drink with friends. I struggle to see the appeal. I don’t regret trying it out, but I now know my limits.

PURPOSE

I left America looking for purpose and direction in life. In a way, I found what I was looking for, but it’s not straightforward. Maybe part of my motivation for traveling was the cliché of “finding myself,” but what I ended up discovering is that I’m out here running away from something. For the past few years, there’s been a part of me that’s felt stuck. I haven’t known which direction to take in life. It’s not that I don’t know what I want, but there are just so many roads I could take. Maybe traveling makes me feel like I don’t have to choose yet, like there’s still time to explore the world before figuring out how to live in it.

ADHD CHALLENGES

For someone dealing with (undiagnosed and untreated) adult ADHD, I think I’ve done remarkably well managing the chaos of travel. But it has also highlighted the limits of what I can handle without more support. I’ve crossed oceans and borders with ease but still struggle with the daily tasks of home life. Growth is never linear—it’s messy, unpredictable, and often comes in waves. During my few years in Seattle before coming to Asia, I felt like I hit a plateau in what I could accomplish without taking serious steps to manage my symptoms. The barriers I began to hit at work, in developing new skills, and in my relationships were extremely frustrating. The steps I needed to take to move forward seemed so straightforward, yet I somehow couldn’t organize my thoughts or will myself to make progress.

In many ways, I’ve been able to manage the challenges of backpacking better than my responsibilities at home. It’s also shown me my duality. I was able to hop off the plane in Bangkok and order coffee in Thai on the side of the road during my first hour in Asia, but after almost four months, I sat shaking with nervousness in Taiwan after ordering dumplings from a local restaurant, worried I wouldn’t understand when they called my order number in Mandarin. I’ve been able to travel the world but haven’t felt organized enough to schedule a dentist appointment since I lived in San Diego three years ago, and I put off necessary car maintenance in Seattle until a few weeks before I was leaving—not due to money, but due to issues with executive functioning. While things still feel frustrating on this trip, being away from work and everyone has forced me to reflect with less outside input. I’ve learned what I really want from my life through experience, and I’ve gained a desire to hit the ground running when I get back to the States.

APPREHENSION WITH HEADING HOME

Still, I’m not entirely enthusiastic about returning to the U.S. I’ve gained a new appreciation for its diversity and nature, but I’m nervous about reentering society. Here in Taiwan, it’s extremely safe—people leave their expensive laptops charging in public and their wallets and phones out on a table, and everything remains in the same place they left it. I would never dare do anything like that in America. It’s so strange to grow up in a culture where stealing from one another is so common, and then visit a place where people have complete trust in each other. Everywhere I’ve been, I’m more worried about things being stolen by other backpackers than getting robbed on the street. I’m nervous about returning to a country where trust isn’t so easily granted—where leaving a laptop on a café table feels like tempting fate, and locking your bicycle to a rack in downtown Seattle almost asking for it to be stolen.

The cost of living in America is also outrageous, but I was still able to save enough money to travel based on my circumstances. I still think it’s the best place for me to live at this moment. Will it be in a few years? I don’t know, but I want to make the most of this time in my life when I can live relatively comfortably in the U.S. There’s so much left for me to see at home. I’m not afraid to go back, sign a lease, fall in love (with someone or something), and make a commitment to stay for some time—but this wasn’t a trip that magically scratched my itch to see the world.

WHAT NEXT

Traveling isn’t a magical fix for your problems, but it is transformative, and maybe change is what I needed to enter the next phase of my life. I wasn’t expecting my problems to be solved, but I thought I might find a better idea of the career I’m building, a place I wanted to stay, or a person who would change my life. As I moved from place to place, I realized that the sense of purpose I was looking for wasn’t something I could find in one destination, but rather in how I interacted with each place, the people I met, and my evolving understanding of myself. I can’t imagine the rest of my life passing by without living through more seasons of this.

I’m ready to go home and enter the next era, but I’m also determined to make the most of the rest of my time in Asia—or at least as much as I can with my achy muscles and fluctuating motivation. I’m heading to Japan, where I’ll travel alone for one more month, followed by another 10 days with my mom. Out of everywhere I’ve been, Japan is the place where I can read, speak, and understand the most of the local language, though it’s still limited. I’ve been surprised throughout my travels by how much I’ve been able to understand and interpret through context and knowing just a handful of words. I’m excited and curious to see what Japan will bring me.

What I discovered wasn’t a singular answer to the question of my purpose, but rather an ongoing process of becoming—through each place, every person I met, and every small shift in how I see the world and myself. And while I’m ready to return home, I’m also not done growing, not done exploring. I’m eager to see how these last weeks of my journey will unfold.