If you type the keywords travel, solo travel, or any variation of the word into Google, you’ll be bombarded with blogs and videos telling you how amazing—and life-changing—traveling is.
Most often, these posts (including mine) revolve around one recurring theme:
“Traveling helps you find yourself.”
And then go on to dazzle you with how feeding the elephants in Thailand or watching the sunrise in Bali was a spiritual moment.
Hey, I’m not shitting on these bloggers or influencers—because I am one of them. While I laugh at the superficiality of some travel content, there’s still a nugget of truth in what they say: travel does change you—or at least something in you.
However, what happens when you travel to find yourself, and instead, you find your limits?
Because let’s admit it, nobody really talks about the discomfort that comes along with the exotic photos.
Dipping In– Then Diving Deep
When I first started traveling, I kept it simple and safe. Stay in major cities. Book an airbnb or a hostel smack in the center of town. A short volunteer stint. A homestay. Set meals, a comfortable bed, and a predictable routine. The goal was to dip my toes in the water and see if I could take it.
The following year, though, I didn’t just dip my toes—I dove in headfirst. And boy, oh boy… let’s just say it was a shock to my system
In my Chronicles of (Mis)adventures in Costa Rica post, I briefly talked about the lessons I learned on that trip, and among them, the one that stood out most was learning to push my limits.
What I didn’t realize then was that this lesson would follow me everywhere—from Central America to Europe, to the Andes, from jungles to high-altitude cities—and reshape the way I travel.
The Reluctant Adventurer
See, I’m not normally physically active. I don’t work out, and I don’t hike. I like to walk to explore, but for specific reasons. Meaning, I don’t mind walking long distances as long as there’s a destination and purpose. I’m not particularly hyped about the idea of just walking for the sake of… walking.
Also, I hate climbing. I never got the appeal of hiking an elevation just to see a view. Hence, up to that point, I had never done any nature trips.
And ziplining, rock climbing, rappelling? I used to not get it. Why subject yourself to sore muscles for three seconds of adrenaline? Isn’t life on the ground thrilling enough?
As for animals, while I don’t particularly hate or fear them, I was never especially excited about them either. I saw them as necessary for the ecosystem (and, let’s be honest, as food), but that was about it.
Yet somehow, travel challenged all of my physical, emotional, and mental boundaries—and that’s when everything changed.
Hanging Bridges and High Hopes
Over the past few years, I’ve done things I never imagined I’d do: ziplining, rappelling, hiking, and horseback riding– all in unfamiliar countries and often alone. I’ve crossed hanging bridges suspended hundreds of meters from the ground, and observed animals in their natural habitats.
Each time, I was full of apprehension, fear, and excitement. Everything was a first for me. These experiences—beautiful but uncomfortable—pushed me to my limits and changed me in ways I didn’t expect
The Beauty of Discomfort
The reality of travelling is that it involves some kind of discomfort that can make or break your experience. For me, the discomforts had not turned me away from travel– they revealed who I was and what I could handle.
1. Canceled Plans and Letting Go
As much as I plan my itineraries down to the last detail, something always goes wrong. Canceled tours. Missed buses. Rain on the one day I booked the jungle hike.
The first time it happened, I panicked. I went into overdrive in contacting customer support, asking for a refund. I felt completely lost about what to do next.
But with time and a few misadventures later, I learned to adapt and embrace the inevitable. I became more flexible and found joy in the unexpected. Now, when plans fall through, I can pivot easily: book another tour on the fly, explore a nearby town, or simply rest.
Sometimes, the best travel days are the ones that weren’t planned at all.
2. Exhaustion and Honesty
When I first loaded my itineraries with back-to-back adventures, I both over- and underestimated myself.
Take the time I hiked in El Tigre in Monteverde. I was scared of getting lost in the jungle and nervous about crossing hanging bridges. But I emerged alive, breathless—yes—but also exhilarated. Turns out I can hike; I just didn’t know it.
Later, in Ecuador, I even hiked on my own without a tour group. And in Peru, I learned the opposite lesson: when the altitude sickness hit me hard in Cusco, I realized that sometimes your body just says “no.” By the time I reached Palcoyo Mountain, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t enjoy the view.
That day taught me that pushing yourself is admirable—but respecting your limits is wiser.
Listening to My Body
Travel taught me to listen to my body and be honest about what I enjoy. I still want to see beautiful landscapes, but I’ve learned that I don’t need to torture myself to do it.
I realized that there are certain conditions that I’m not willing to endure, even though the experience might be amazing or beautiful. For example, if hiking up a steep trail means being miserable the entire way, no view—no matter how majestic—will be worth it.
For example, in Peru, the altitude in Cusco really hit me hard. So, when I hiked up the Palcoyo Mountain (sister to the Rainbow Mountain), I was so tired and so breathless, that I didn’t enjoy the summit. Worse, it made me lose zest to the rest of the tour because even after the descent, I was still catching my breath and was then nursing a migraine. I still enjoyed my trip of course, but I learned to listen to my body and accept what it can and cannot do.
I still want to see beautiful landscapes, but realizing that I’m not into strenuous and long hikes, I came up with a similarly enriching compromise– horseback riding.
I used to be apprehensive about horses. I saw them as unpredictable and feared being thrown off. But after trying it once, my fear turned into fascination. Now, I love it so much that I’ve spent entire trips exploring landscapes on horseback.
It’s funny how facing one fear can open an entirely new way to experience the world.
From Indifference to Fascination
Animals used to be background characters in my travels. But once I started observing them in nature—birds, monkeys, horses—I began to appreciate how alive and interconnected everything was.
In later trips, I found myself noticing every detail: neighborhood dogs, street cats, birds overhead. I went from indifference to curiosity, and from curiosity to genuine connection.
Travel softened me in ways I didn’t expect
Redefining What “Real Travel” Means
I used to believe that “real travel” meant being rugged—backpacking, roughing it out, and surviving on instant noodles.
Now, I realize that authenticity doesn’t depend on discomfort. Comfort doesn’t make travel less real.
Just because I prefer a horse to a hike, or a soft bed to a sleeping bag, doesn’t make me less adventurous. Just because I skip the bar-hopping nights at hostels doesn’t mean I’m not interested in the city.
Travel isn’t a competition– it’s a conversation between you and the world. And only you know what kind of traveler you are.
The Real Discovery
Travel has given me more than memories; it’s given me self-discovery and acceptance.
What my mind, body, and heart can endure is uniquely mine. And that’s the beauty of it.
Pushing yourself to do new things will teach you more than staying on your couch ever will– but learning when to stop teaches you something even deeper: grace.
✈️ Related Post
Chronicles of (Mis)adventures in Costa Rica — The trip that started it all and taught me the beauty (and chaos) of saying yes to the unknown.
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