What Travel Has Taught Me About Myself

The Suitcase Litmus Test: Who Are You, Really?

I would argue there’s no truer test of self-awareness than standing in front of an empty suitcase the night before a trip. Are you the minimalist who rolls up three shirts and leaves room for souvenirs? Or are you the ever-prepared type who packs rain boots “just in case”? Me? I’m a “throw in one dress too many because you never know when Paris might call” kind of packer.

But in those frantic minutes before a departure, we confront ourselves—our habits, our priorities, our quirks. And that’s only the beginning. Travel has a funny way of peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you were wearing, revealing details about who you are, what you need, and what makes you tick. I used to think travel was about seeing the world; now I know it’s just as much about uncovering yourself. Let me explain.

Lesson 1: Control Is a Mirage, and That’s Okay

Picture this: I was speed-walking through a Tokyo train station, confident that I had timed my trip to the second. I had memorized the connections, bought my matcha latte, and patted myself on the back for being fully in control of my day. Then, my Tokyo-to-Yokohama train got delayed. By two hours.

At first, I fumed in quiet frustration. Didn’t the universe know I had plans? But by hour two, seated cross-legged on the station floor next to a vending machine, I surrendered to my lack of control. Instead of fighting it, I people-watched, eavesdropped on travelers debating their itineraries, and bought myself an unnecessary amount of Pocky to pass the time. Weirdly, I felt...calm.

Travel forces you to let go of the illusion that you can control everything. Flights will get delayed, languages will get confusing, and street signs might mercilessly lead you in circles. And somewhere in the chaos, you learn that letting go of perfection—whether on a trip or in a relationship—is often the best shot at actually enjoying the experience.

Lesson 2: Get Lost to Find Yourself

In Paris, where I briefly lived while researching Japanese art trends in Europe, I discovered one universal truth: If you don’t have a GPS or flawless French, chances are you will get lost. My first day there, I zigzagged through arrondissements, my paper map soggy with sweat and perhaps a few tears (I won’t tell). I was determined to find a café that supposedly had the fluffiest croissants in the city.

Hours later—when I should’ve given up—I stumbled upon a tiny bookstore instead. It wasn’t what I’d been searching for, but the owner played Debussy on an old record player, brewed me tea without asking, and insisted I buy a battered copy of À La Recherche Du Temps Perdu. That detour ended up being the highlight of my week. (And for the record, I did eventually find the croissant café. It was excellent. But not life-changing.)

Travel, much like dating or finding your path in life, doesn’t follow perfect straight lines. It’s the detours—a wrong turn, an unexpected encounter—that often lead to the best moments. When you stop obsessing over “the plan,” you open yourself up to surprises.

Lesson 3: Small Pleasures Matter (a Lot)

One spring in Vancouver, where cherry blossoms delicately line sidewalks and everyone inexplicably owns a bike, I learned the art of savoring the small stuff. There, amid the damp rain and persistent beauty, I discovered the meditative power of walking aimlessly. I would buy myself a coffee from a café so hip it didn’t even have a menu, stroll along the seawall, and marvel at the crisp air that somehow smelled like cedar and seaweed at the same time.

What’s fascinating about travel isn’t just the big stuff—the Eiffel Towers, the Mount Fujis—but how it tunes you into small, fleeting pleasures. The olive at the bottom of your martini in Rome. The buttery warm onsen water seeping into your skin in Hakone. The desert air brushing against your cheeks in Marrakesh.

This applies to relationships too. Grand romantic gestures are nice, but connection often lives in the small moments: the way your partner laughs so hard they snort, or how their hand instinctively finds yours in a crowded room. Travel taught me to treasure those bits of everyday magic.

Lesson 4: You Have Room to Grow

When I first moved to Vancouver for grad school, I told myself I was “fine being alone.” I imagined days spent studying, weekends browsing art galleries solo, and cooking meals just for myself. But two months in, I cracked. I missed the chaos of Saturday dinners with my family in Japan, where food was always served with sides of heated debates and lingering conversations over sliced fruit for dessert.

It hadn’t occurred to me that I could simultaneously be independent and crave connection. Moving to Vancouver exposed that vulnerability in me and made me confront a question I’d been avoiding: “How do I build meaningful relationships in a new place?” Once I was honest about wanting connection, I started to open up—joining student events, smiling at strangers, and letting myself get close to new people.

Travel, especially when it’s long-term, is like an emotional mirror. You see parts of yourself you may have buried under routine—the lonely, insecure, or hopeful parts of you. And that’s the beauty of it. The version of yourself you find on the road doesn’t need to stay static. Like a traveler, you’re a work in progress.

Lesson 5: Stuffed Schedules (Like Stuffed Suitcases) Are Overrated

In my early 20s, fresh out of undergrad, I traveled through Kyoto in classic “Let’s cram everything in!” mode. My mornings were for temples, my afternoons for museums, and my evenings scheduled with cultural experiences like, “watch traditional tea ceremony while pretending to understand its depth.” By the third day, my feet hated me, I saw zero sunsets, and I couldn’t remember half the places I visited.

Fast forward years later, and my favorite trips now are purposefully unplanned. In Tokyo, I’ll pick one thing—a ramen shop I always wanted to try—and let the day unfold from there. In France, I traded Versailles for dawdling at local markets. I learned to leave room for nothingness, which is where some of the richest moments lie.

The same thing applies to relationships. Yes, date nights and exciting plans are great, but being able to sit in silence with someone—doing nothing at all—says even more about the intimacy you share. Travel taught me that it’s okay to slow down. In fact, it enhances everything else.

Takeaways for Your Journey (Wherever, and Whatever, It Is)

If travel has taught me anything, it’s that growth doesn’t require a passport (though it does help). The lessons I picked up between cherry blossoms and street signs also apply to everyday life and love. Here’s how you can use them:

  • When plans go off the rails, surrender. Instead of resisting unpredictability, embrace it. Often, the best things come out of moments you couldn’t plan for. (Like that stranger-turned-friend who sat next to me on a turbulent flight to Seoul and shared their favorite dumpling recommendation. Amazing.)

  • Leave room for detours. In life and in love, not every path takes you where you expected—and that’s the point. Get lost and let yourself really see what’s around you.

  • Notice the small stuff. Whether it’s the scent of a lavender field in Provence or the way someone remembers your coffee order, pay attention. Relationships—both with others and with ourselves—are built on tiny moments.

  • Allow yourself to change. You’re not the person you were last year, last week, or even yesterday. Growth isn’t a sign you’re lost; it’s proof you’re trying.

  • Ditch the overstuffed itinerary. Sometimes doing nothing is the best way to find clarity—whether on a trip or in your relationships.

At the end of the day, travel is just a tool. A beautiful one, yes. Sometimes expensive, infuriating, and mind-blowing—but a tool. What matters most is taking those lessons and bringing them back to your everyday life.

Because whether you’re on a plane or just walking down your own street, the journey to understanding yourself—and building better relationships—never truly ends. Pass that vending machine Pocky, though. I am absolutely taking it with me.