Subscribe now

A glint of gold caught my eye. My fingertip traced the line, soft, flowing as the glittering thread swirled before disappearing around the curved edge. My hand opened, gliding back as my other hand reached out, grasped firmly, and pulled toward me. My eyes closed slightly as I breathed in the familiar scent enhanced by the warm air. Memories of another time, another place, flooded forward. Standing still, I let them wash over me, smiling, sinking into the dream.

A light touch on my arm drew me back to the present. I opened my eyes to the hustle of Teramachi Shopping Street, crowded with locals and tourists, escaping the stifling heat outside, ducking in and out of the air-conditioned shops selling everything from pens & stickers for 200 yen to spectacular kimonos for 200,000 or more.

I had passed by Nomura Tailor House a few times before, though I had not allowed myself to stop. Tonight, I was feeling quietly content with my efforts for the day and had decided to stroll home from my yoga class in the Shimogyo Ward to my hostel in Higashiyama via the bustling shopping district, mostly because I was enjoying an audiobook and wanted to keep walking as I listened to the rest of the story.

The bolt of navy blue Kyo-nui style fabric with deep red and jade dragons flying amongst glittering gold flourishes was lying partly buried in the basket outside the front door.

Touching it was irresistible. Feeling fabric between my fingers just happens, sometimes without even realising it. It’s not just fabric though. I am a tactile person. I like to feel things in my hands. I am one of those people who wander around galleries and museums with their hands in their pockets, not because I am bored or haughty, but because I would otherwise risk disobeying the requirement of ‘Do not touch’. Maybe that is why I love kids' science centres that are hands-on experiences.

The smell of a fabric store reminds me of shopping with my mother. Searching through the rows and rows of rolls to find the right material for whatever project she was working on. Hiding among them, peeking out to see if she was looking for me.

Now, I seek them out for the comfort they bring and the way they spark creativity in my imagination. Browsing a well-stocked store is akin to being a kid in a candy store, only these treats do not rot my teeth.

Without a specific project in mind, my thoughts flitted to France and the sanctuary I’m creating for myself—the wallpapering finished just the day before I left, with all the decorating waiting for my return at year’s end.

Tempted by the Indian lace, the abundance of buttons, and uniquely Japanese sashiko embroidery patterns, I left with a tangible reminder of this fragrant summer evening, strolling through the streets and lanes of Kyoto.

One can never have too much fabric… can they!

About Joy

Joy has been travelling the world for over 20 years, experiencing life in 47 countries. Since 2022, she has been travelling slowly and continuously. Joy is a certified Travel Coach and Global Lifestyle Strategist focused on supporting empty nesters to embrace this unique stage of life and fulfil their travel adventure goals. Learn more about Joy here.

It’s a sweltering Sunday afternoon in Kyoto, and I’ve sought refuge in the air-conditioned stillness of Café Bibliotic Hello. I’ve spent the week working steadily on my book draft, but today I’ve set that aside for the second prompt in Beth Kempton’s Summer Essay Writing Festival: Generosity.

At first, I didn’t know what to write. I don’t think of myself as a particularly generous person. I even realised I often confuse generosity with other traits - kindness, helpfulness, gratitude, respect. They overlap, but they aren’t the same. So I started by looking up the word.

Generosity, according to the dictionary, is “the spirit and action of freely and frequently giving to others, without the expectation of anything in return.” The Latin roots suggest to beget, to create, to bring into life. It’s about offering something - time, money, attention, energy - not because you owe it, but because you want to contribute.

I immediately thought of my mother, Grace - perhaps the most naturally generous person I know. Every time I speak to her, I hear about the things she’s been doing for others: making quilts, running errands, helping friends, visiting family, quietly noticing needs and meeting them. She doesn’t expect anything in return. It’s simply how she moves through the world.

In contrast, I’ve been reflecting on how rarely I act generously these days. That wasn’t always the case. I used to be generous. But somewhere along the way, I pulled back. I can trace the shift to late 2020, when I got shingles and hit burnout. After that, I consciously slowed down. I learned to say no. I began to protect my time and energy more fiercely.

It was necessary. But I wonder now - did I go too far?

Since stepping away from work last year, my life has become quieter, more inward. And in that stillness, I see moments when I could have extended myself and didn’t. Times when I might have helped, written a kind review, shared someone’s work, acknowledged a kindness - and chose not to. Not out of cruelty, just… retreat.

That’s not to say I haven’t given anything. I’ve volunteered my time. I’ve had conversations with people seeking advice. But in some cases, I wanted something in return - an experience, an adventure, a sense of purpose. And doesn’t that undercut the essence of generosity? If we expect something back, is it really a gift?

There’s also the tension between giving and giving it all away. I’ve felt that before - the burnout of over-giving, of not setting boundaries. So how do I navigate this space now? How do I begin showing up with more generosity - not from guilt, and not to earn anything - but as a quiet offering?

I think the answer lies in the small gestures. Writing reviews. Reading the work of fellow writers. Sharing words, encouragement, time. Being present. Being open.

As I finish writing my book, I know I’ll be asking others to be generous - to read early drafts, to give feedback, to share and support its release. I want to feel worthy of that kind of generosity. And maybe the first step is to start practicing it again myself - not to collect brownie points, not to balance some invisible scale, but to participate in something larger than me.

To give, not because I have to.
To give, because I can.

About Joy

Joy has been travelling the world for over 20 years, experiencing life in 47 countries. Since 2022, she has been travelling slowly and continuously. Joy is a certified Travel Coach and Global Lifestyle Strategist focused on supporting empty nesters to embrace this unique stage of life and fulfil their travel adventure goals. Learn more about Joy here.

If you are like me and find it easier to listen rather than read, please enjoy this audio version of the story. Scroll down to read the full story. Narrated by the author, Joy Taylor.

For much of my life, planning a trip was almost as enjoyable as taking it. I loved researching destinations, reading reviews, creating itineraries, and hunting down good deals. I rarely overscheduled, but I usually had a fairly solid plan in place before setting off. Still, even back then, there were moments when I longed for more freedom - to linger somewhere longer, to follow a curious turn in the road, or to visit a place someone had just mentioned in a café.

These days, I travel differently. Slowly. Continuously. This shift has come with its own challenges, especially decision fatigue - trying to juggle the need to be present in one place while also planning the logistics of the next. But I've discovered that it's possible to travel without a plan; and that can be one of the most freeing, enlightening ways to move through the world.

Letting a trip evolve organically - allowing it to become part of everyday life rather than something separate or exceptional - takes practice. It requires trust in yourself and faith in the abundance of opportunity the world offers. It’s an approach I’ve been learning to embrace, and one that led me, most recently, to a café where I’m writing these reflections, in Kyoto, Japan, where I have no plan at all.

How Japan Ended Up on My Calendar

I’ve wanted to visit Japan for many years. Back in 2009, I almost chose it for my annual adventure with my kids, Oliver and Amanda, but we ended up going to Vietnam instead. That trip gave us all the ingredients of a good travel story - jellyfish stings, a typhoon, landslides on the train line, flooded river crossings. Memorable, chaotic, and filled with unexpected moments.

Fast forward fifteen years. Amanda announced her engagement and set a wedding date for October 2025. That gave me a reason to plan to be in Australia for the first time in nearly two years. At the same time, I had just made an offer on a maison in France. Logistically, it made sense to fly into Sydney and arrange my French visa appointment, visit Amanda and Jacob in Canberra, and collect my car, which they’ve been looking after since Oliver and Morgan moved to Austin, Texas.

Around then, an email from Qantas arrived in my inbox - flights from Osaka to Sydney for just 20,000 frequent flyer points. That sealed it. Japan would finally be on my schedule. I didn’t know yet where I’d be flying to Japan from or when, but I trusted the details would fall into place, and they did.

Arriving Without a Plan

It’s now my third day in Japan. I arrived from Bordeaux via Istanbul late on a Friday evening with nothing more than a booking for a bed in a shared room at Hisaya Shirakawa Hostel in Kyoto. I hadn’t organised transport from the airport. I hadn’t booked any tours or made any plans. I had barely even looked at a map - just enough to choose a hostel within walking distance of a subway station and some nearby green space.

Since leaving full-time work in July 2024, I’ve been writing a book about long-term travel. I’ve reached the point where I need quiet, focused time to turn my notes into a first draft. Japan, I decided, would be the place to pause, breathe, stretch, and write. This unstructured time feels like a gift - exactly what my mind and heart were asking for.

And so, here I sit. Outside the café, the shallow river is full of large fish, maybe koi, huddled together. Ducks paddle toward the bank. Two grey herons squabble over a patch of grass. A small turtle drifts and then dives. Cyclists pass by on the nearby path. I can see the mountain behind Higashiyama, the rooftops of Buddhist and Shinto temples peeking through the forest. The red and white cranes of ongoing construction. The heat is heavy, and people carry umbrellas to shade themselves from the sun. In front of me, my milkshake glass is nearly empty, a smear of mint syrup clinging to the edge, the last of the chocolate milk unreachable by the spoon-shaped straw.

I have a rough list of things I hope to experience in Japan: learning some of the language, writing kanji with ink and brush, making sushi, attending a tea ceremony, arranging flowers, making washi paper, and forest bathing. But I don’t plan to race between cities or climb Mount Fuji. I want depth, not breadth. I want to follow what feels right, day by day.

One of the most memorable moments so far wasn’t even on my list. On my first day in Kyoto, some new friends from the hostel invited me to join them in dressing up in traditional kimonos. I hadn’t planned to do it - and wouldn’t have thought to include it - but it sounded like fun, so I said yes. It was. We had photos taken in the cool of the shop’s air-conditioned rooms before they headed out to wander the streets in full attire. I opted out - Kyoto’s summer heat was far too intense for layers of silk and tight obi - but I loved sharing the experience with them and was glad I stayed open to the unexpected.

Lessons in Letting Go

This way of travelling isn’t for everyone. In fact, it wasn’t for me either - not at first. It’s taken me years to get comfortable with not being specific. Travelling solo helps. There’s no pressure - real or imagined - to tell anyone what I’m doing tomorrow, or even today. I can get on a bus without knowing where I’ll get off. I can sit under a tree with my notebook until my bum goes numb - or leave after two minutes if it doesn’t feel right.

Of course, not every destination suits this kind of spontaneity. Sometimes, not booking ahead leads to disappointment. But I’ve learned to treat this approach as a skill - something to be practised. The more I exercise it, the more natural it becomes. And over time, I’ve found that letting go of strict plans brings something else in: wonder. Freedom. A lightness I didn’t know I was missing.

A Quiet Kind of Joy

Travelling without a plan doesn’t mean drifting aimlessly. It means allowing space for life to unfold. It means making room for serendipity, for slow mornings and unhurried afternoons, for sitting by a river and watching herons argue. It offers a reprieve from the constant decision-making that often accompanies travel - and invites in a quieter kind of joy.

Whether or not you choose to travel this way yourself, I hope you’ll consider the possibility. Sometimes, the best adventures are the ones we never planned.

This adventure happened in July 2025, while I was travelling solo in Japan.
Australians are able to visit Japan for up to ninety days as a tourist without a visa.

Interested in a global lifestyle?

Wondering how you can travel to unique places for months at a time? Joy can help you develop a strategy for a global lifestyle. Learn more about her services here.

About Joy

Joy has been travelling the world for over 20 years, experiencing life in 47 countries. Since 2022, she has been travelling slowly and continuously. Joy is a certified Travel Coach and Global Lifestyle Strategist focused on supporting empty nesters to embrace this unique stage of life and fulfil their travel adventure goals. Learn more about Joy here.

Nestled in the valley beneath the jagged ridges of the Simonsberg mountain range, one could be forgiven for thinking they had found the Garden of Eden.

Apples dangle from the branches waiting to be plucked and eaten, and if you wander far enough, you will find the snake lurking in the shadows.

The folk of Babylonstoren encourage you to pick a ripe fruit, so long as you will eat it. Are their motives good or evil?

I arrived in the early afternoon and took the opportunity to explore the vast curated gardens until I reached a quiet space with a gently tinkling water fountain and a bench on which to sit and eat my lunch.

A modest entrance fee means you are able to bring your own food in, though there are a few options to buy something if you're hungry and haven’t packed a picnic. The garden spills into the whitewashed walls of Babel, where linen-draped tables await those who thought to book ahead.

My chicken salad consumed, I continued to explore, finding my way to the hot and humid Spice House via the Healing Garden, which is full of remedies for a multitude of ailments. Among the fragrant herbs and medicinal plants, I was surprised to find natural antibiotics and remedies for male reproductive issues tucked between the leaves.

The birds from Southeast Asia sang their unique songs as I worried whether the ancient-looking turtle had passed away. After taking a turn about the room, I found that he had just been sleeping and was now entertaining himself chasing the silver-scaled fish.

The ducks were all back in their pen for a rest after a busy morning searching for bugs and slugs in the garden and a swim in the pond.

I was reminded of my last visit to South Africa, when Rhodes and Cornel showed their extensive knowledge of birds as we hiked through Kruger National Park. I’m sure they would have been able to tell me the names of the pretty little ones flitting around the garden and making use of the many wooden houses available to them.

The drive here was very easy, bar a little traffic on the N1. Escaping the city for the afternoon to hear the roosters crow, smell the earthy scent of a working farm, and see a mongoose scuttle across the path has been a welcome revival.

I found a lush, grassy patch to spread my blanket and lay back to read for an hour—or maybe I had a little nap—until a few small children expressed their delight as they met a donkey for the first time.

All that was left to do was choose what flavour gelato to savour before the drive back to the city. A perfect end to an unhurried afternoon, with the sweet, simple reminder that joy doesn’t need to be complicated.

Next time, I will plan ahead and book a night or two at the guesthouse—perhaps to coincide with a butter churning workshop.

This adventure happened in April 2025, while I was travelling solo in South Africa. Australians are able to visit South Africa for up to ninety days without a visa.

Interested in Babylonstoren?

Find more details about the gardens, guesthouse and workshops here.

Interested in South Africa?

You can find more of our stories about our adventures in South Africa here!

Interested in a global lifestyle?

Wondering how you can travel to unique places for months at a time? Joy can help you develop a strategy for a global lifestyle. Learn more about her services here.

About Joy

Joy has been travelling the world for over 20 years, experiencing life in 45 countries. Since 2022, she has been travelling slowly and continuously. Joy is a certified Travel Coach and Global Lifestyle Strategist focused on supporting empty nesters to embrace this unique stage of life and fulfil their travel adventure goals. Learn more about Joy here.

Tell me. What burns in you?

Recently, someone asked me that question. I had to sit with it for a while before responding.

After years of full-time travel, I’ve felt new longings rising alongside old ones: to pause and to move, to contribute and to create, to connect and to retreat.

This piece is a reflection on the deeper desires that shape my choices - the ones that tug at the edges of my days, asking me to pay attention.

Exploration

The pull to see, touch, taste, hear, smell, and feel new things - again and again. For over three years now, I’ve been travelling full-time, guided by a hunger for the new. Lately though, alongside the thrill of movement, I feel a burning desire to nest.

Not to stop moving entirely - maybe just to land for a little while. To create a space that feels familiar, quiet, comforting. A temporary haven I can return to and refresh - rebuild the twigs, add a mirror, maybe something blue.

I want to use my hands and my mind. To move my body. Not to the point of burnout, but enough to collapse into rest, the kind of rest that feels earned. I want to feel that hum in my body that says, “You used me well today”.

There’s a reason migratory birds return to the same place each year. A reason nomads throughout history had home bases scattered across the land. There’s something natural about responding to seasons - physical, emotional, spiritual.

Purpose

I want my days to mean something. I want the energy I give to ripple outward - in ways I might never see. The call to be of use, to do something that positively impacts humans, animals, the planet - that still burns strong.

I was disappointed last week when a plan I’d been holding onto washed away, literally - changed by circumstances beyond my control. Even still, I feel the connection, and I keep tending to it for the future. Sometimes purpose isn’t about charging forward; it’s about waiting well, listening, and aligning with what’s already unfolding.

What I do must be in alignment with the people who live that calling every day. My presence can’t be about swooping in, doing what I want, when I want. That’s not the kind of contribution I believe in.

Sometimes, being of service means stepping back, listening more than speaking. Like elephants walking the same path for generations, there’s wisdom in understanding what’s already in motion before forging a new trail.

Vision

To see and be seen. That desire lives in me too.

I want to feel connected - even from a distance. Though I’m realising I don’t always express what I miss. Not out loud. Not often.

Family, friends, deeper relationships… these are the threads that anchor me, even when I’m far away. Solo travel has taught me that alone doesn’t always mean lonely. It’s taught me to talk to myself, to really get to know her.

I’m learning what I miss - and what I don’t. I’m always myself, but perhaps out here, I’m more my real self. The one who doesn’t perform connection, but seeks it with intention.

To live an enjoyable life - one that feels alive, active, healthy, loved, connected, purposeful, and growing. Always learning. Often sharing. Sometimes failing.

Legacy

To leave something behind that matters. That’s the fire at the deepest layer.

I want to be remembered - not for fame or perfection - but as someone who made a small corner of the world a little better. Something real. A gesture that echoes.

I don’t have a map for my life - but I do know that these questions, these longings, are worth listening to.

They’re the quiet flames that guide me - not just across continents, but deeper into myself.

Maybe it’s not about figuring it all out, but about continuing to move with care, to rest with intention, and to keep shaping a life that feels true.

And the fire? It’s still burning, and I will keep feeding it.

Interested in a global lifestyle?

As a certified Travel Coach, Joy can help you make it happen. Learn more here!

Pre-Dawn

My mind is in flow mode. In this quiet hour, everything always seems so clear—until I open my eyes and sight distracts me. The sheet has been kicked off during the night. I feel my skin shiver slightly and roll over to snuggle against his warm body. He stirs, then snores lightly. My alarm has not gone off yet, but my body clock is suggesting it is time.

I slip quietly out of bed and head into the hall to the bathroom, grateful that we opted to pay a little extra for a private bathroom. Having the second bedroom as a dressing room means I can turn the light on.

I pick up my yoga mat and backpack and close the apartment door quietly. The internal staircase to the coworking space on the top floor is pitch black. I feel along the cold cement wall for the light switch.

No one else is there yet. The small crescent sliver of the moon sits low on the horizon. It will be gone completely tomorrow. Thousands of stars shine brightly in the deep blue that stretches until it blurs into the ocean.

The monitor I used yesterday is still on the same desk. I connect my laptop and log in to catch up with my team in Australia before they finish up for the day.

Dawn

The sky has turned to soft cream. The sun will take a while to creep over the ridge behind me. The sound of the fishermen returning in their wooden boats floats in on the gentle breeze coming through the open window. My cue to leave my desk and head back down the stairs and across the little bridge that connects this building to the next.

I climb the steep steps up to the terrace and roll out my yoga mat on the far side, wondering if the eclectic mix of broken tiles was laid intentionally.

With the terrace still quiet, I settle into a comfortable seat on my mat, I close my eyes and take the deepest breath I have taken all day.

Sunrise

Plates clink below. The smell of freshly baked bread drifts through the doorway. The crystal dangling in a kitchen window across the lane catches the first rays of the day.

Rolling up my mat and nod hello to the girl from London who arrived last night as she gracefully transitions from downward dog to a low lunge.

Walking past the buffet of boiled eggs, warm baguettes, golden butter, jars of Nutella & honey and platters of fresh fruit I pop back to our room to change into a bikini, put on sunscreen and grab my tote bag for the beach before coming back to fill a plate and take a seat at the low table where the conversation is underway about the state of the waves and where we think Abdellah will take us today.

As if conjured by the mention of his name, our enigmatic surf coach appears at the top of the stairs. We have four minutes to finish our breakfast and get downstairs to the board room. That is how long it takes him to prepare and drink his morning coffee.

Late morning

With way less effort than putting it on, I strip off my wetsuit. The sun's rays touch my bare skin as it breathes for the first time in hours.

“Nice work out there, you’re making great progress!” Bassi, one of our surf coaches says as he effortlessly picks up the board I had unceremoniously dropped on the sand after staggering the fifty metres from the edge of the water.

“Thanks!” I reply, holding back the rest of the sentence that runs through my head. “You must have seen one of the three waves I managed to catch rather than the fifty I did not.” I know he would have a super positive response to anything I uttered, he always does.

Of course, he is right. I have made progress, but as much as I love being in the water, my love of being in control seems to curb the appeal of surfing for me. I can happily spend hours in the waves with a camera, filming my friends as they catch wave after wave, but give me a nine-foot-long piece of foam to hold onto, and my brain fights for control in a battle that it can not win.

My skin starts to tingle. The sensation that betrays the ideal of being a bronzed Aussie and reminds me of visits to the skin doctor to have innocuous little spots cut out or burnt off with dry ice. I find my tote bag under one of the umbrellas and grab my sunscreen and a teeshirt.

Before I have time to sit down, I hear the vendors approaching. The now familiar call of ‘cacauhuète’ by the jovial fellow who carries a large wooden tray held up by a strap around his neck, filled with a dozen varieties of peanuts, roasted, salted, spicy or sweet. A few steps behind him is the guy carrying a large urn of hot water and a jar of fresh mint leaves.

It will not be long until the others arrive, with their trays full of doughnuts surrounding a bed of sugar ready for dusting, or little baskets of fresh, sweet strawberries.

I find ten dirhams in my bag and buy a doughnut.

Midday

Even if I didn’t have any work to do, the morning session is enough for me.

We came all the way down to Anza today, so I put my sandals on and walk up to the main road where I wait for a bus that will take me as far as Banana Beach where I can change to the next bus to get back to Taghazout.

Distracted by the sights and smells, the back of my thighs singe as I sit on the hot vinyl bench seat. I wish I had packed a towel today.

Stepping off the bus, I put my hat on for the walk to AdventureKeys. The sun is directly overhead and there is little shade to be found along the main road except under the beach umbrellas covering the sardines cooking over hot coals. Most of the other little stalls are closed. It is Friday and the call to prayer, Salat al-Jumu'ah is blasting from the megaphone speakers on all sides of the tower of the mosque across the road.

Subscribe now

I turn up the side street before the shop that sells kitchen wares plus a thousand other things made of fluorescent-coloured plastic and start the climb up the street past the pretty bougainvillea outside the house with the intricate mandala painted on the door.

As I approach the brightly painted steps, I pause. Three kids come down on their way home for lunch. The two boys, maybe about eight or nine years old, jump the last few steps, one of them turns to grab the hand of the little girl, maybe five, as she jumps off the bottom step and flashes me a cheeky grin.

Sunset

Back at the coworking space, all of the windows are wide open. The low sun is streaming in, but the gentle breeze from the morning has been replaced with a stillness that feels like an oven.

I push through the last hour of my work day and get the final tickets finished before leaving notes for my team who will be back online in a few hours. Bidding farewell to my coworking colleagues who are aligning their work hours with the United States, I descend into the cool stairwell feeling a welcome reprieve.

Back in my room, I change into my yoga pants while listening to the sound of the neighbours preparing for their evening meal on their rooftop.

As I reach our terrace, the sun is hovering above the horizon and the sky is turning to a hazy red. I grab a matching red hammock and attach it to the rings on the beams above the tiled floor, wondering if our yoga instructor would notice if I opted to have a nap rather than hang upside down from the thin fabric.

I roll out my mat underneath and sit, breathe and watch the sun slip away beyond the waves.

Dusk

Sinking onto the soft, cushioned stool, I place my plate piled with delicately spiced chicken and freshly prepared salads, on the low table.

A new friend from Belgium sits beside me and we start to recount our day between mouthfuls. It is not long until every seat is occupied and we need to shuffle along to make space to pull in another couple of stools.

The last of the twilight fades away unnoticed as sugar cookies are passed around and tea is poured from a height into small glasses with a flourish.

Dark

Farewell hugs and several group photos later, I slip back to my room, glad that I am not the one who is getting up at 2 am to head to the airport in Agadir.

He will be back later, so I take this quiet time to capture my thoughts in my journal.

As I reach to switch off the light, a notification flashes up on my phone. My youngest has been offered her first job as a teacher. My heart swells with pride as I hit the call button to get all the details.

David and I stayed at AdventureKeys Surf Camp in September/October 2022 for one month, in an ocean-view room with a full board package, including surf lessons & equipment, yoga and coworking.

Adbellah and Bassi have both launched their own ventures since then. You can find more information at WeSurfSkate and Surfswell.

Interested in Morocco?

You can find more of our stories about our adventures in Morocco here!

Interested in a global lifestyle?

As a certified Travel Coach, Joy can help you make it happen. Learn more here!

Subscribe now

I picked up the punnet of blueberries. ‘Product of Mexico’ it said on the label. I sighed and wondered if Mexico was the only place in the world where blueberries grew.

This was not my first visit to the quaint little village of Bansko, high in the Pirin Mountains of Bulgaria. Before the pandemic, I came here for a travel bloggers' conference, though I was not a travel blogger at the time.

Back then, it had a sleepy feel, with many shops and venues that cater to the ski crowd closed for the summer. Now, the village is alive with digital nomads gathering for the annual Bansko Nomadfest, a week of talks, music and new connections. Though I notice that for some, life continues unchanged—like the man perched on a wooden cart, the sound of hooves clicking on the cobbled street behind me.

David and I had rented a self-contained apartment near the gondola for a month. Arriving yesterday by bus from Sofia after the long-haul flights from Australia, we had grabbed a pizza from the restaurant downstairs. Now though, it was time to stock the small but adequate kitchen. No doubt we would be eating out a fair bit, the food here is great and very affordable, and there will be lots of people to get to know over a meal, however, I also know I will need to take some quiet time out and cooking at home is one way I like to wind down.

The weekly Farmers Market takes place in a small square of the Old Town on Saturday mornings, so we grabbed our shopping bags and backpacks and set off down the hill alongside the rushing stream, then cut through the narrow lane, dodging the firewood piled on the street outside the old stone houses. Reaching the renovated little stream with its pretty flower beds and cute bridges signaled our arrival in the heart of the village.

An old man sat on a bench, eyes closed, a peaceful smile on his face as the water tumbled through an old flume beside him. The sound of the church bells carried clearly through the cool crisp air. Eight o’clock. As we crossed the large, new town square, more people appeared, most heading in the same direction as us.

Stepping down into the bustling market, my skin tingled with excitement as I took in the scene with all my senses.

An old lady sat beside her tiny table covered in soft drink bottles filled with fresh milk from her cows and eggs from her chickens.

A friendly fellow selling several varieties of mushrooms he had foraged, still speckled with dirt and smelling like the forest, laughed as he told me he would charge me extra for the twigs.

The grandpa selling fresh herbs from his garden kissed his granddaughter goodbye before greeting me. I recognised basil, coriander, parsley and sage, though there were others that were unfamiliar. I don't know much Bulgarian, and he knows even less English, but I managed to communicate that I did not need them in a plastic bag. You've got to be quick about that, otherwise your produce will be in two plastic bags before you can even blink.

I tasted the off-white berries offered to me. They were small, firm and very tart. I'm still not sure what they're called, but I bought a small yoghurt container full, along with some of the sweetest, ripest strawberries and firm, plump cherries.

Amongst the growing crowd, it was easy to pick out the other nomads. They, like me, were picking up unusual vegetables and smelling them with a quizzical look, wondering whether it was something to peel, boil, bake or bite.

With golden honey, crusty loaves of seedy bread, hand-churned butter, and soft white cheese, we had almost everything we needed, except meat.

The line for the butcher’s stall was long. They were cooking juicy pork sausages on a barbeque out the front. My tote bags were heavy, and we still had to walk home, so I was reluctant to wait. But they smelled so good, we joined the queue.

I love shopping locally and buying fresh seasonal produce, but I’ve learned that grocery shopping while travelling often means balancing markets with supermarkets for essentials. So we made our way out of the square towards the rushing stream and crossed over to the new BILLA supermarket that had opened since I was here last.

The sign on the outside stated that they support local producers, which sounded promising. Leaving David outside with our market bounty, I went in to grab the other items we needed.

Like most supermarkets, this one had a brightly lit, spotless produce section near the entrance. The first thing I saw was the piles of imported fruits, avocados, bananas, pineapples, mangoes and my favourite, blueberries.

Part of my vision for my nomadic life is to learn to live more sustainably, buying and eating local products as much as possible and learning how people live in different parts of the world. The fact that these products are sold here means people buy them—but I wonder how much of that demand comes from the growing number of nomads and expats. Does the guy driving the horse-drawn cart buy blueberries from Mexico?

Rather than dropping the blueberries in my basket and moving on, I think of the tart berries I just tasted in the market and put the punnet back on the shelf, feeling a slight sense of pride in myself for rethinking my default behaviour in the moment and making the ‘better’ choice.

This is a true story. It happened the day after I arrived in Bansko in June 2022, which was the beginning of my full-time global travel and digital nomad adventures. Since then, I have travelled to many countries, usually staying in one place for a month or more, generally with a kitchen available to prepare my meals.

Grocery shopping while travelling can be an adventure or a chore, depending on my mindset. I’ve learned that I can shop the exact same grocery list almost anywhere in the world, and I do if I'm not conscious about it.

This is a constant challenge for my conscience—balancing convenience and familiarity with supporting the environment and local economies. The issue exists everywhere in the world, and as much as I want to ‘do better’ it’s so easy to buy what I know - like staples - regardless of whether they are in season or grown locally.

Every time I make the effort to explore the local markets and try unfamiliar produce, I always feel energised and positive about my choices. Even if the taste may not be to my liking, the fact that I tasted it makes me happy!

Next time you travel, will you reach for the familiar or make the effort to find the local flavours that might surprise you?

Interested in house-sitting?

Get a 25% discount on the annual membership with Trusted Housesitters here!

Interested in Bulgaria?

You can find more of our stories about our adventures in Bulgaria here!

Interested in a global lifestyle?

As a certified Travel Coach, Joy can help you make it happen. Learn more here!

On a sandy beach behind the large driftwood logs, we unloaded the branches of the trees and bushes we had trimmed, piling them beside the stacks someone else had placed there a year or more ago. We had collected so much that we had to make three piles.

When David first mentioned the opportunity to experience living at Arrow Beach, I thought he was talking about a place by the sea. I soon discovered there are a lot of ‘beaches’ in Canada, and many, like this one, are far from the ocean. The day had been quite warm for May in the Kootenays of British Columbia. It feels like we jumped from winter to summer with barely a glimpse of spring. One day, there was snow falling; the next, the magnolia by the front door of the big house was blooming.

Silver ribbons danced on the surface of the lake as the sun started to edge toward the top of the mountains on the far side. It was calm but for the slight quiver made by the ferry that crosses every fifteen minutes from Needles to Fauquier, about a mile to the north.

Once the last of the branches had been unloaded, we drove the little farm truck back up to the shop - or what we would call a shed in Australia - put the tools away and loaded in a couple of camp chairs before stopping in at the cottage to pick up the basket of snacks and drinks I had prepared earlier.

Schoko, the gentle chocolate Labrador we were here to look after, jumped into the truck, awkwardly manoeuvring herself onto the seat between us. As we drove back down through the pasture, the dandelions were starting to close their heads for the evening.

The horses are not here now; they are back in the barn paddock for the night. I will bring them back down for a few hours again tomorrow so they can stretch their legs on the beach.

In a few weeks, the pasture grasses will be thick enough that they can stay here. I will still feed old Hearty her special breakfast under the tall trees by the gate and brush out the last of her winter coat. The wild geese fly a bit further along the beach as we approach. They make a mess everywhere but will not be here for much longer. They are still on their way north.

The beach is still wide, though the shoreline is muddy in spots. The water has started to rise as the snow on the mountains is melting and is lapping the edge of the breakwater that David repaired last week. I think it will not be long until the dock starts to float, though it might be a while longer before I am willing to go for a swim. Melted snow is really cold, and as much as I think I want to be brave enough for a cold plunge, I am not sure that I am.

Arriving back at the sandy headland, I notice the thin clouds to the south are starting to turn pink and the sky is a delicate shade of mauve. We set up the chairs facing west and find a large stump to use as a makeshift table. As the sun touches the tall pines on the furthest mountain, the snow on the ridge opposite us becomes iridescent.

David is in his happy place, crafting a small tower within a circle of stones. He flicks the lighter and watches as the flame jumps quickly from the dried pine needles and twigs to the bigger branches. We settle into our seats, Schoko at my feet, and watch the sky change colour as the flames dance and sway, pulling the air from each direction in turn, sending the smoke to join the clouds above.

As the fire crackles, we count our blessings that we get to enjoy life in this way and reflect on other sunsets we remember and other bonfires we have sat around, as we breathe in the scent of the walnut, holly and rosehip, adding this day to our collection of memories.

This adventure arrived as a result of an alert for housesitting opportunities longer than one month on the Trusted Housesitters platform. We were offered this housesit more than six months ahead of the sit date and were able to align another two housesits in Canada plus a week in an RV on Vancouver Island during our four and a half months in Canada in 2023. As Australians, we are able to visit Canada for up to six months without a visa.

Interested in housesitting?

Get a 25% discount on the annual membership with Trusted Housesitters, and we receive a 2-month extension on our membership if you join via this link.

Interested in Canada?

You can find more of our stories about our adventures in Canada here!

Interested in a global lifestyle?

Wondering how you can travel to unique places for months at a time? Joy can help you develop a strategy for a global lifestyle. Learn more about her services here.

About Joy

Joy has been travelling the world for over 20 years, experiencing life in 45 countries. Since 2022, she has been travelling slowly and continuously. Joy is a certified Travel Coach and Global Lifestyle Strategist focused on supporting empty nesters to embrace this unique stage of life and fulfil their travel adventure goals. Learn more about Joy here.

As the minute hand slowly ticked its way to the top, the grey clouds grew in the sky outside the window. We didn’t need to watch the clock to know the time. We could tell the bell was about to ring when the scent of warm rain drifted through the open windows.

In Queensland, the final weeks of the school year coincided with the beginning of the summer storm season. The choice of walking home in the rain or staying at school for an extra hour until it passed generally depended on whether there was thunder and lightning or what time I needed to start work at my part-time job.

Now, more than thirty years later, I still love the smell of rain and associate it with impending freedom. Perhaps that is also because more than ten of those years were spent in a period of drought when the slightest hint of the smell of rain had us running outside to dance in the droplets.

For the last couple of years, I have lived in near-constant summer. Travelling around the world, chasing a daily average of twenty-four degrees. Global warming has made that challenging, as seasonal averages can be off by more than ten degrees or hundreds of millimetres.

I have learned that I actually like all the seasons and am now planning to experience some destinations when it is not expected to be so warm, like France in December and Canada in January.

This year, I have experienced my first full spring and summer seasons in the United Kingdom. Here, there have been days below zero and others above thirty. The sun has shone, the wind has blown, and the rain has fallen.

I am currently in Mid Wales. It is early September, which is the tail end of summer. The countryside is lush, green, fresh and alive because it rains quite often.

That was expected. What I have unexpected, is that I cannot smell the rain here. I wondered for a bit if I had COVID and had lost my sense of smell. I have not. I can smell lots of other things.

Out of curiosity, I looked up what the smell of rain is called, which I had never bothered to do before. It is called ‘petrichor’. The Oxford Dictionary defines it as ‘a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.’

So, it makes sense that rain does not smell here. There has not been ‘a long period of warm, dry weather’ since I arrived.

Living in places where it rains pretty often means that I have learned to get more comfortable going outside in the rain than I was before because if I didn’t, I would rarely get to go outside. Once I go out, I find that it doesn’t actually rain all that much…it just looks like it is about to rain all the time.

Today is one such rainy day. I decided to go check out Gilfach Nature Reserve for a walk with Billy, the dog we are looking after, rather than to the local park to play ball and throw sticks.

The reserve is a mix of rocky hills covered with heather, gorse and bracken ferns; and clearings that emerged from the edge of the oak wood forest where a stream rushes through the rocky river bed.

There were some cattle grazing in the fertile paddocks, happily munching on the plentiful supply of bright green grass. When we walked through the paddocks, the smell of grass, muddy earth and cow manure created a fresh scent that smelt familiar.

“Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived.” – Helen Keller.

As I walked along, I was transported to another time when I was sitting in the grass beside the road, overlooking a steep paddock with cattle beneath me and out over the beautiful valley between the ridges that run down the southern side of the Poas Volcano, near Grecia in Costa Rica.

We had stopped to soak in the view on our way down the mountain after going up to the edge of the crater of this active volcano. It was the first time I had been to an active volcano. The turquoise green pool at the bottom had drifts of steam moving across it, and when the breeze blew, the smell of sulphur rose up the crater to greet us.

That odour took me back to the time we boiled eggs by placing them in a woven basket and dipping them in the hot spring water at San Kamphaeng near Chiang Mai in Thailand.

Then I thought about the smell of boiled eggs and remembered the lady who came onto the bus travelling from Battambang to Phnom Phen in Cambodia. She was selling boiled eggs in little plastic bags. She got on when we pulled up in a small town along the way, walked up the aisle making sales, and then hopped off before we drove away.

There was someone on that bus who had dried fish, too. I cannot recall if they were travelling with us or selling them, but I vividly remember the stink.

To help reduce the impact and prevent the nausea from escalating, I bought some menthol oil in a little roll-on bottle. A little on their wrists gave them something to easily hold up to their nose and focus on while breathing, and it also felt nice and cool.

Thinking about that reminds me of when they were little, and I would put vapour rub on a handkerchief inside their pillowcase when they were snuffly so they could breathe easier while sleeping.

This makes me think of how they smelt in their clean pyjamas and how much I loved tucking them into a freshly made bed with soft sheets.

And, that reminds me that I have a load of laundry in the washing machine, and it is time to emerge from the scented rabbit hole and find somewhere to dry the clothes, as it is raining again outside.

I am currently writing a book (my first) about my experience as a full-time traveller and the answers to the many questions that I have been asked along the way. If you have any questions you think I should include, please let me know.

If you are interested in reading more stories about travelling the world slowly while still working and without selling everything you own before you get started, then you might like to subscribe to enJoy Life Adventures.

I hope you enjoy this version of a memory of a conversation I shared while living in Costa Rica in September 2023.

Subscribe now

She grabbed the knife. Her weathered hand made two quick slashes above her upturned palm and then pointed the sharp tip towards me.

“Pruébalo,” she said, meaning ‘taste it’.

The familiar scent of summer reached my nose as my fingertips closed around the wedge of soft golden flesh. 

“Mmmm,” I murmured as the sweet juice took me back to Christmases at Mum & Dad’s house, where the traditional fare included lots of cold meats, fresh salads and fruit-laden desserts. 

I licked my lips before slowly saying, “Quiero tres, por favor!” in my not-yet-confident but trying Spanish. 

She smiled in the way a mother smiles at a small child, then asked, “¿Por hoy?”.

My mind grabbed onto a word it recognised. Hoy means today.

“Si! Oh, solo uno.” 

Even though it is the rainy season here in Grecia, the heat of the day turns ripe fruit into rotten fruit in the blink of an eye. 

She picked up three plump green and pink-skinned fruits and caressed them gently, put one back and selected another. 

Gesturing the last one, she repeated, “Por hoy.” though it was no longer a question. 

I leaned forward, my outstretched hands holding a mesh bag open. 

She paused, smiled and placed the fruits in the bag.

I have learned over the last few Fridays at the Feria de Agricultor that I need to be quick, or else everything ends up in a plastic bag. 

“¿Cuánto?” I asked.

She took the bag and placed it on a set of scales with a swinging needle. 

“Mil,” she says with barely a glance at the dial. I am sure she already knew how much they weighed without the machine.

One thousand colons, about three Australian dollars for three large ripe mangoes. 

“Gracias!” I reply, handing her two five hundred centimos coins.

I picked up the bag, nodded my head in farewell and said, “Nos vemos, la próxima semana!” With a little more fluency than last week.  

“Pura vida!” she says, and with a twinkle in her eye, “Have, a, lovely, days!”

Do you dream about travelling more? Perhaps to Costa Rica or another country where the locals speak a different language.

If you have any questions on your mind, I would love to hear them. I am currently writing a book about my adventure of travelling the world full-time, and I want to be sure to include as many answers to your questions as possible.

My hope is that my stories and suggestions will help other people feel confident to start exploring more…safe in the knowledge that there is no right way to travel. There is only your way.

I am sharing small stories here on Substack while writing the book as I try out different writing techniques and learn to find my storytelling voice. Your feedback is most welcome.

As a traveller who loves to walk, I am on my feet a lot. I do not always give them the attention they deserve, so today, I have written them a little love letter so they know how much they mean to me. 

To my dear feet,

Thank you for being with me on every step of every journey. 

I’m sorry for causing pain in your fascia. I vow to stretch more and lighten the load to help you recover. 

While I often keep you hidden, it is to protect you. You’re so important to me.

I promise to seek opportunities for you to be free on beautiful green grass, soft white sand or cool blue water.

When you step onto the mat and wriggle your toes, I feel you connect to the earth. I know I am safe with you.

I sense your excitement when you settle into hiking boots, grip the wax on the board or squeeze into flippers. 

We’ve had tough times with bee stings, ant bites and strapping tape. I’ll try harder to prevent those. 

I know you love cooling peppermint. I’ll schedule more pampering, like spa-pedis and aromatherapy massage. 

We’ve climbed mountains and jumped in puddles all over the world. I can’t wait to explore new places with you. 

Tonight, let me wrap you in warm socks, for tomorrow, we will continue our adventures, and you will breathe and get dirty all over again.

Love, Joy xx

You may have noticed that I have not been quick to start publishing my writing since I joined Substack a bit over a month ago. I am grateful to Beth Kempton for hosting a Summer Writing Sanctuary, which has prompted me to share my writing so that others may find it and enjoy it. If you are interested in igniting (or re-igniting) your creative writing habit, you might like to read what Beth writes for some inspiration. You can find her on Substack here.

Just because I haven’t been publishing doesn’t mean I have nothing to write about or that I have not been writing. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I am currently on sabbatical from my day job to open up some space to capture more stories and answers to questions I regularly get asked about travelling the world full-time. I am putting them together into my first book.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end. If you are interested in following my travels and book writing journey, you can subscribe to enJoy Life Adventures here on Substack.

It was not silent before, though I had not noticed the sounds as my eyes had taken over as the dominant sense, attempting to capture the scene spread out before me. Now that the raindrops were drumming on the taught surface of the umbrella, it felt like all the other sounds were competing to be heard. 

My boot scuffed the path as I felt my arm drag my body forward faster than my feet were preparing to move. Billie’s breath was rasping as he lowered his body and pulled as hard as he could, trying to get to the next smell he had picked up amongst the ferns and paper daisies growing thickly along the edges.

As we approached a bend, we heard a family walking towards us. “Here comes a new friend, Billie”, I said. I could not see them yet, so I did not really know if they had a dog. Most people who were out walking around the lakes today did, so it felt like a safe bet. 

Generic greetings were exchanged as Billie and a little spaniel sniffed each other, turning in circles and getting their leashes twisted. Once resolved, we moved along, expressing our wish for an enjoyable walk, all while getting wetter and colder as the wind blew the rain under the edge of our small covering.

“In!” is all it took for Billie to spring up and land lightly in the back of the car, then ‘Watch your nose” as the door closed with a click. The indicator ticked, and the engine purred as we pulled out onto the road. Soon, the sound rose as the accelerator was depressed further to gain momentum to get up the steep road to the top of the next reservoir wall.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped out of the car. The rain had paused, but the wind was blowing through the dense canopy of needles in the trees lined up in rows behind the fence at the end of the road. 

The long grass in the paddock beside the road rustled against stumps. There were no tall trees in this section anymore, and there would not be for some years yet. Not until the new, young oaks have grown up. Do they know their ancestors stood in this same soil more than a century ago, before the faster-growing pines were planted?

Someone had taken the time to turn several of the largest remnants into works of art. An otter chased a trout; meerkats hid in their burrow; ravens guarded their nests; and owls spread their wings. None of these made a sound.

The kissing gate creaked as I pushed it to step into the small space, then again as I swung it back to step out. I heard myself exhale with a sigh as my eyes adjusted to the scene hidden in the shadows of the forestry pines. 

The cascading water bounced from rock to rock before pushing up against the pile of small branches collecting in the pool at the bottom, then slid quietly under the bridge I was now standing on before tumbling rapidly down on the other side. 

I took a deep breath, feeling the cooler air enter my lungs and the fresh scent of moss tickle my nose. The fairytale forest scenes always make me smile, and I can hear the stories start to play in my head. Is that a real birdsong, or am I channelling my inner Snow White?

The trills continue long enough that I am convinced they are real, though I do not see who is singing. As I descend the stairs to the bottom of the dam wall, I lose the song. It is drowned out by the thundering crash of the water escaping from the depths of the dam. 

Down here, the trees are different. They have leaves. They are strong. They have to be to survive the occasions when the water is not only coming out through an open pipe into the river but also when it is flowing over the top of the dam wall and plummeting hundreds of feet before being pushed along the valley floor and flooding up the edges.

Many of their kin have not survived. Their roots have been exposed or torn from the ground and carried off downstream. Some are decomposing on the banks, quietly delivering their nutrients into the ground to continue the cycle. Others have been pulled out, dried and turned into firewood that crackles and pops as it warms the hands and hearts of the souls who watch the flames flicker during the long, cold winters.

On the other side of the wall the trees that remained have long since become silent as stones were piled up one on top of the other to close off the river water’s escape route. There were homes there then, too, of people and animals. I cannot imagine the sounds that were made as the water rose higher and higher. 

As we make our way back along the river, the soft sounds are overridden by the roar of a group of motorcycles as their riders race towards us, then slow down to take the bend and cross the narrow bridge before leaning into the corner and zooming off to enjoy the twists and turns around the banks of the lakes. 

We climb back into the car, click our seatbelts and chat about the history we know about and the future we dream about as we drive around the far end of the fifth dam. The sloshing sound from my bottle on the floor prompts me to have a drink.

A group of very wet walkers are ambling down the road. We slow down, then stop, and the window whirrs as it slides inside the door. “There is a footpath just below the road. The access point is just back at the last corner you passed. It is much safer on there.” we say to them, pointing to the spot fifty feet away. They nod, say “thanks”, and continue walking down the road. 

My thoughts drift to the warm shower I will take when I get home and how hot water sounds different to cold water when it sprays from the rose. I feel gratitude flow through me for those who put in so much effort and for all that was sacrificed all those years ago, which has enabled me to be here to enjoy all these sounds today.

All photos taken by the me while we were driving and walking around the Elan Valley area in Mid Wales, in August 2024.

Here are some more details about the Elan Valley... 

The Elan Valley has five large reservoirs and is located in Mid Wales, about fifteen minutes from Rhayader. It is a popular spot for outdoor adventures. Learn more about the area here.

The Elan Valley is also a ‘dark sky’ area and would be excellent for seeing the stars and planets if only the clouds would move out of the way. Check out what constellations are visible from here in August 2024. 

You may have noticed that I have not been quick to start publishing my writing since I joined Substack a bit over a month ago. I am grateful to Beth Kempton for hosting a Summer Writing Sanctuary, which has prompted me to share my writing so that others may find it and enjoy it. If you are interested in igniting (or re-igniting) your creative writing habit, you might like to read what Beth writes for some inspiration. You can find her on Substack at Beth Kempton.

Just because I haven’t been publishing doesn’t mean I have nothing to write about or that I have not been writing. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I am currently on sabbatical from my day job to open up some space to capture more stories and answers to questions I regularly get asked about travelling the world full-time. I am putting them together into my first book. If you are interested in following my travels and book writing journey, you can subscribe to enJoy Life Adventures here on Substack.

At the top of the frame, a bright blue band is moving, or rather, it appears to move as a flock of gulls wing their way from left to right. I am not sure yet if that is east to west or north to south. I arrived here yesterday and do not have my bearings yet.

Dropping my gaze, the blue gives way to white and grey as fluffy spun sugar clouds hang in the air. I need to watch them for a few moments to confirm they are moving, as they appear to be painted into the scene. This is quite the contrast from yesterday when they were being blown about and morphing from one shape to another before I could make out what form they were taking. 

The clouds disappear behind the crest of the hill on the other side of the valley. It is a patchwork of green and yellowy-brown, with the left half flat and smooth at the top and the right half rough and rugged where the bracken and brambles are growing wildly, and the last of the gorse flowers have dried in the heat of the summer sun. 

Three red kites are gliding back and forth, low above the hillside, looking for a late afternoon snack. There are many of them here now, though, for a time not that long ago, it was feared there would soon be none. I cannot see any white dots on the fields beneath them, though I expect I will in the days to come. 

I look forward to noticing how my new view changes each day as I learn what it feels like to experience living through the last month of summer here in Rhayader, Mid Wales.

Here is a bit of extra detail about some of the things I noticed today. 

Rhayader is pronounced like Raider or Rhy-adder, depending on who you ask and how well your ear picks up the Welsh accent.

The gulls were flying from northeast to southwest, so I would be right if I combined my guesses. You can see where Rhayader is on the map here.

The red kite numbers have grown thanks to the exceptional efforts of the team from Gigrin Farm https://gigrin.co.uk/.

Summer in Wales starts on 20 June and ends on 22 September, so it is not exactly the opposite of winter in Australia, which begins on 1 June and ends on 31 August.

You may have noticed that I have not been quick to start publishing my writing since I joined Substack a bit over a month ago. I am grateful to Beth Kempton for hosting a Summer Writing Sanctuary, which has prompted me to share my writing so that others may find it and enjoy it. If you are interested in igniting (or re-igniting) your creative writing habit, you might like to read what Beth writes for some inspiration. You can find her on Substack at https://bethkempton.substack.com/

Just because I haven’t been publishing doesn’t mean I have nothing to write about or that I have not been writing. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I am currently on sabbatical from my day job to open up some space to capture more stories and answers to questions I regularly get asked about travelling the world full-time. I am putting them together into my first book. If you are interested in following my travels and book writing journey, you can subscribe to enJoy Life Adventures here on Substack.

enJoy Life Adventures

A little space carved out to practice sharing my words to discover my voice📣as I embark on the adventure of writing a book📔If you’re interested in seeing the world🌏while travelling slowly🐌without selling everything💫, then you might like to join me!

By Joy Taylor

or head over to my website to read some of my earlier stories.

Photo: The view from my window, captured by me.

As I write, I am sitting on the rough stone floor of the conservatory, stretching my calf muscles and the fascia of my feet. 

The sound of rain falling on the roof distracts me. I look up and see the drops landing on the glass roof. 

I love the smell of rain, though I do not get to enjoy the scent on this summer morning in Southampton, England. My nose is blocked, as it has been most days since the flowers started blooming not long after I arrived in Scotland at the beginning of spring. 

Looking back down at my notebook, I notice my heartbeat. A glance at my smartwatch tells me my heart rate is still 86 beats per minute. I breathe slowly and steadily and watch the number drop. 

It did get as high as 165 while I was out for a jog around the block. A clear indicator that this is the first day I have been out jogging for quite a while.  

First days can be exciting when we recognise them. They hold a promise of the potential for something desirable to evolve.

I usually align a planned first day with something tangible, like the beginning of a week, the first of the month or a new year. 

Today, though, is a Saturday. It is the 6th of July, a date that has never had any significant meaning for me. 

It is not my birthday. That is six months from tomorrow. It is not the start of a new moon cycle. That was yesterday. It is not even a quirky arrangement of numbers.

Yet, today is a first day that I want to recognise, and not because I went for a jog.

Today is the first day of a new chapter in my life. A chapter that I am leaping into with a mix of anxious energy and quiet confidence.

Doing my best not to overthink what that means, I am aware there is a lot to be done in the days following this first one.

Spending any time thinking about whether today is the right day or whether the decision itself was good is pointless. It will be the outcome that determines that, and reaching the outcome requires time and energy to be spent doing what needs to be done, not just thinking about it. 

A writer that I admire, Beth Kempton, recently shared an essay on longing, choices and the tyranny of ‘just’. 

It is called Joy. Boats. Time. 

Those words captured my attention. I initially thought it was clever technology personalising the post title. Then I wondered, was she writing directly to me?

Of course, the real answer was ‘no’, yet the words were so aligned with my thoughts, that I felt I could not just let the moment slide by.

Three little words…

I am Joy. 

I feel joy when I am moving and when I am still; when I am alone and when I am in good company; when I am outdoors and feel the cool breeze and the warmth of the sun touch my skin; when I do a thing I said I would do and when I help someone else do anything. 

About Boats. 

In a few days, I will move onto a narrowboat. It is an experience that I have been longing for. The purpose is to learn the necessary skills and techniques to live on a canal boat and to identify if my dream of cruising the canals of France is one I want to invest time and money into experiencing in real life. 

And Time. 

The time I have intentionally chosen to make space for has arrived today. The time to be spent learning, sharing, remembering, forging and recognising the thoughts that have been brewing in my mind.

Thoughts that are answers to questions I have been asked again and again. 

Thoughts that are questions to which I do not yet know the answers. 

Thoughts that are dreams that I can not remember dreaming, until they feel familiar as they flow from my pen. 

It is time to begin this new chapter in my story. 

Choosing the topic of this new chapter of my life

I believe that each of our lives is a choose-your-own-adventure story. The kind where you decide which option you want to follow without knowing how the story will unfold.

You can make that choice with the roll of a dice or by flipping a card, or you can choose with careful consideration, purpose and a desired outcome in mind. 

I chose the latter and am excited to begin the chapter on becoming an author. 

I am embarking on the adventure of writing a book.

My adventure of exploring the world will continue; however, I am taking a break from paid work for a while so that I can dedicate the time to writing about enjoying life's adventures while I continue doing so. 

The book will offer the reader the opportunity to consider how they could realise their dream to travel more, whether full-time or occasionally, with a focus on travelling slowly. 

It will tell the story of how I have created a nomadic lifestyle that works for me, including tales of adventures and practical steps, as well as my observations and snippets of conversations with other full-time travellers who have taken a different path to reach the same destination. 

My invitation to you

I invite you to ask questions and make suggestions on what topics to include in the book.

I invite you to share tips on how you stay motivated when embarking on a lengthy, somewhat daunting project.

I invite you to join me as I learn what it takes to write and publish a book. 

I’m excited to begin and grateful to have found you here on this first day!

Joy xx

Subscribe now