It was the first time I travelled totally independently. No travel agencies, no hotels, no group tours, no forced itineraries. Just me, a friend, our backpacks, wallets, passports, the Booking app and a few train tickets.

It was my first taste of travel adventure. It was culture shock. It was the first time verbal language truly failed me and I had to resort to gestures and expressions to communicate. It was scary, different and wonderful.

And it was fulfilling. I want to go back there someday.

Every time I return to a place I haven’t been to since my childhood, there’s something off about it. Even if mostly unchanged, it still feels different. The streets and paths feel narrower, the trees and buildings shorter. Everything feels… smaller. Was I that changed or the place? Maybe memories can’t be trusted.

I’ve often wondered if I’m the only one that feels this but never actually bothered to ask. Not every question needs an answer, I suppose.

Due to continuous Internet access and social networks we are now more than ever aware of what’s happening around us. This can lead to the so called fear of missing out, a form of fear of regret.

I would sometimes feel a similar kind of anxiety when travelling. “This is probably the only time I’ll be here,” I would think, “so I must make the most out of it!”

This is a very easy trap to fall into. Travel guides and blogs list the top highlights we just can’t afford to miss. Tour operators tempt us by enumerating all the amazing landmarks we’ll see in just a couple of hours for just a few dollars. Instead of planning for an enjoyable trip, we plan near-impossible itineraries in an attempt to check-off TripAdvisor’s top attractions in a single day before catching a bus or train to the next city.

It’s a tiring and stressful approach to travel and, worst of all, it left me feeling a bit guilty whenever things didn’t go according to plan.

And they often didn’t.

As my thoughts take shape on my computer screen I realize I’m beginning to feel somewhat self-conscious about publishing them somewhere. The truth is: my longest trip only lasted a slender 16 days so I don’t feel like a true traveller. I’m not a long-term travel hacker or a digital nomad. I haven’t been to all continents. And it feels like I haven’t earned the right to share my thoughts on this subject.

But I also know that’s a ridiculous notion. Your mind is often your own worst enemy. One does not need to earn the right to speak-out one’s thoughts and there’s no such thing as a true traveller or even a right way to travel.

Passion may come from within but it rarely stays there; something compels us to share it with others and few things are as enthralling as listening to someone talk about something they’re passionate about. Because passion is contagious. And that may be my favorite thing about it.

I’m passionate about stories and connecting to others through them. You can learn much about someone through the stories they choose to tell and the way they tell them. Stories can be borne out of anything: interactions, thoughts, coincidences, daily minutiae, even dreams.

And, of course, travels.

For most people travelling breaks the daily routine and is for that reason a very fertile ground for stories. When we get back to our everyday working lives it is through those stories that we share and relieve our travels and as time passes by and the memories of our travels slowly fade away, the ones we turned into and shared as stories will live on longer.

However, as you talk to others about travelling and exchange stories, some people will try to convince you you did it the wrong way. You didn’t go to that awesome place, you didn’t try the amazing local food at that hidden-away restaurant, you didn’t go at right time of the year, etc. This often comes from a good-hearted and well-intentioned place, but often influences our perception of our own travels staining our experiences with regret and guilt.

Sharing is caring but it must be done with copious empathy.

I’m a programmer by trade and I spend a large part of my working week thinking about optimisation. Optimising code, processes, interactions, user experiences, etc. As work-related things often do this mindset sometimes leaks out to my personal life.

But is life something that we should attempt to optimise? Should we attempt to optimise ourselves? Do we dilute who we are by doing it? Do we lose ourselves or find ourselves in the attempt? Is the continuous process of optimising all aspects of life something that is ultimately detrimental?

I don’t know. The answer lies in the gray but I haven’t found it.

I’ve made my peace with travel-related guilt and it has become an interesting non-issue. Overthinking stuff sometimes helps I guess.

Anyway, when shit hits the fan, I’ll find the humor in it. That usually does the trick.