25 articles

Travel has a way of unravelling us. It stretches our boundaries and expands our horizons, but in the movement, we often lose the steady pulse of our daily rituals. After eight months on the road, I’ve realised that protecting your practice isn’t about rigid adherence to a schedule; it’s about finding the spaces that help you return to yourself—the ones that feel less like a workout and more like medicine.

Sometimes, stepping away from everything you know is the only way to truly see it.We all have places we’ve outgrown, or thought we had. The home that once felt heavy, the routine that seemed suffocating, the four walls that turned into a mirror for our restlessness. But what if it wasn’t the place holding you back? What if it was what you carried inside it?

When I set out on what I half-jokingly called my adult gap year, I had a very clear picture of what I was chasing. I wanted adventure. Something new every day. A change of scenery. Access to incredible things for my photography.

There are people in our lives who remind us to play; the ones who make you want to cartwheel on the beach, run along the sand, or balance, laughing, in a rock pool in warrior three. On my Koh Samui retreat, there was one such person: Bronte.

There are places in the world that make you feel whole, grounded, and deeply nourished, and there are places that quietly take from you, chipping away at the equilibrium you’ve worked to cultivate. It can feel as though the culture of a place seeps through your skin, shaping your energy and attitude before you’ve even noticed.

Most people go to Thailand for the temples, the history, the food, the colour and chaos. There’s something for everyone, from family adventures to the wild nightlife of Patong. But for us, at least on this visit, it became something quite different.

Yes, I’ve been to some incredible places over the last few months. But what I’ve realised is that when you don’t have a “home” to go back to, or more importantly, no clear end date, even the most remarkable experiences begin to feel… normal. And normal, when stretched too long, loses its magic.

Four months ago, I packed up my perfectly curated Melbourne life, placed it neatly into a 3x3 storage cage, and boarded a one-way flight. Since then, I’ve travelled through Bali, Vietnam, Cambodia, Kuala Lumpur, and Sri Lanka, with Thailand just around the corner.

There are places in the world that don’t just ask you to visit—they invite you to feel. Cambodia is one of those places. Thick with memory, gilded with devotion, and humming with life, it offers a kind of travel that moves beneath the surface. This isn’t a country for rushing through. It’s a country for pausing, listening, and letting the stories rise from the land itself.

A reflection on slowing down, shedding layers, and returning to self through travel. There’s this idea we’re sold, that travel should be a rush. To see the world is to move quickly from country to country, ticking off iconic sights and staying “on the go.” I thought that energy would sustain me.

I used to believe I was a good traveller. Curious. Kind. Conscious. But as I moved through the villages of Vietnam, past rice paddies, crumbling temples, food stalls, and families, I was forced to reckon with a quieter truth. I have always been a privileged traveller. And with that privilege comes a responsibility.

There was a time when wellness travel felt like a luxury reserved for the few. A distant dream of remote retreats, all-inclusive spas, and Instagrammable jungle sanctuaries. But something has shifted. Wellness is no longer a destination; it’s a way of travelling, of seeing, of being. And now, it’s becoming more accessible, more intentional, and more beautifully human.

There’s a certain beauty in packing not just clothes or chargers, but your rituals. A yoga mat, a journal, snacks that feel good, shoes that let you walk for miles — these are tools that shift travel from hectic to healing.

With grand plans of spending three months in Vietnam, we secured a 90-day visa, packed our lives into suitcases, and left the bliss of Bali for the cultural mosaic of Vietnam.

Or, what happened when I threw out the itinerary and finally listened to that quiet inner voice. This isn’t an anti-blog. It’s not a rebellion against to-do lists, or a rejection of all the amazing things Bali has to offer. It’s simply an invitation to do things your own way.

We’ve been in Vietnam for 12 days, and I’d be lying if I said it’s been plain sailing. After the peace we found in Bali, this rhythm of packing up and moving every 4–5 days feels tedious. There was something grounding about our daily yoga practice there, something magical in the stillness that gave our time structure and soul. Now, without that anchor, we find ourselves drifting, disoriented and restless.

Today, as we stepped out of the beautiful, sun-warmed space that is Alchemy in Ubud for the final time, we were handed a goodbye gift. Completely unexpected. Entirely unnecessary.

I have been in Ubud for three weeks now, and thanks to an extended visa, we get to stay for another 30 days. It might seem unusual to settle in one place during a gap year, but in many ways, it feels like we’ve moved here—at least temporarily—to rest and recalibrate. This gap year is not just a break from work but a departure from the world I used to inhabit. The transitions between countries won’t be rushed; moving every week would be unsustainable. Instead, we are easing into a rhythm, embracing a slower, more intentional way of being.

Yesterday, I attended a Balinese purification and blessing ceremony with Tri Desna in Ubud. While the full impact of letting go may take days, even weeks, today, I feel lighter. Rested. Unburdened. Even in the midst of a gap year—a time meant for freedom and exploration—I had unknowingly packed emotional baggage alongside my travel essentials. We all do.

The first week of my adult gap year has arrived, and with it, a sense of liberation I never knew I needed. I sit quietly in a hotel, my entire life packed into a 3x3 box. Why do things hold such meaning for us? We save up, we buy, we collect, we part with them—yet in the end, isn’t it the people, the experiences, and the moments that define our true sense of home?

Travel is so much more than the destinations we reach—it’s about the emotions that arise, the connections we foster, and the way these experiences stay with us long after we’ve unpacked. When I think back on my most cherished journeys, I realise what makes a place truly unforgettable isn’t just the beauty of the landscapes or the moments captured on camera. It’s the deeper, more intangible essence—the way these places touch our hearts and awaken something within us.

Iceland is a destination that promises awe-inspiring landscapes, from cascading waterfalls to volcanic craters, glaciers, and geothermal wonders. This 10-day Iceland Ring Road itinerary in early winter is perfect for those seeking a winter adventure filled with breathtaking views, hidden gems, and unique experiences.

An adult gap year is a chance to step away from your day-to-day life and embrace everything you wished you'd done before university or entering the workforce—except now, you have the benefit of experience, wisdom, and (hopefully) some savings on your side.

A time away from home is a precious thing, a time to reflect, recalibrate and live a little slower, maybe even in a more considered way. Living in a city such as Melbourne with the remnants of the last few years still so raw for many the idea of visiting a place so unique and protected from external influences as Daylesford is a treasured opportunity.

In a time such as now, it has been impossible to plan anything and those of us who used to travel the world collecting memories from all the places we visited are a little stuck. What is there to look forward to? What can we do to find this value in our everyday lives?