The Geography of Letting Go: Why Travel is My Therapy

There is a specific, visceral moment when I step off a plane on foreign soil or stand before the jagged peaks of the Rockies. It’s a physical exhaling. My shoulders drop, the tension I didn't even know I was carrying in my jaw dissolves, and a smile spreads across my face. In those moments, I feel like all my problems aren't problems anymore.

There is a magical, humbling experience when you stand in front of a mountain, an ocean, or a new city and you realize just how smallyou are. It’s small in a good way. Standing at the edge of a canyon or watching the rhythmic heave of the tide, the noise in your head finally hits a "mute" button. You realize that your problems aren't these massive, insurmountable issues. Instead, they become bite-sized—so small that you can either let them go or make them manageable by viewing them through a wider lens.

Because that’s what travel is all about:

a different perspective.

More Than a Meme

Nowadays, social media is flooded with reels and memes of influencers joking about "travel as therapy." We all laugh and nod along, but when you really break it down, traveling is like therapy—though perhaps without the professional and the couch.

In the quiet of a foreign train car or the anonymity of a crowded street where no one knows your name, the masks you wear for work or family start to slip. Travel strips away the "busy-ness" we use as a shield. It forces you to have an honest conversation with yourself (whether you want to or not) about whatever life is throwing at you.

That is my favorite part of traveling, besides cool places and the people. It’s the stripping away of all these titles and masks we wear. Recently, I have been going through major life changes in my work, friendships, etc. And I was saying to a few of my friends that I feel like I am putting on a mask, saying all the “right” things, doing all the “right things,” when I am struggling to figure out who I am again… I know I am not the person I put on this mask, but when you are in the midst of a big life change, I guess we might not be the people we want to be. This is the second time this has happened to me in the last 6 years….

From DC to the Desert

Traveling doesn't just provide perspective; it gives you the physical space to separate yourself from your baggage. I remember feeling suffocated and super stuck in DC. During COVID, I broke some rules and headed to Utah to camp in a tent. Ironically, that’s how Wandering Bel started—unbeknownst to me at the time.

The Utah desert didn't offer comforts; it offered clarity. I left DC because I needed a break from my breakup, my job, and the relentless hum of city life. I needed to sit by a campfire—feeling the sharp, cold bite of the midnight air—to cry, scream, and figure out who I actually was. Under a sky so crowded with stars it felt heavy, the only thing I could hear was my own breath. For the first time in years, I actually listened to what I was saying.

Sometimes, you have to lose your coordinates to find your direction.

When the Horizon Is Out of Reach

But what happens when you can’t escape? This is something I have been feeling recently….

Right now, many of us are in a season of feeling "stuck." Whether it’s financial limitations, health problems, or the heavy weight of life’s current uncertainties, a plane ticket isn't an option. It’s easy to feel stir-crazy—like you’re trapped in a pressure cooker with no vent. When you can’t change your zip code, the "mental loop" of your problems seems louder than ever.

In these moments, the challenge shifts. If you can’t find a new perspective through traveling to a different country, you can find it through small shifts in your environment.

The "Tourist in Your Own Town" Reset: Walk a route you’ve never taken before. Sit in a park three towns away. Sometimes, simply seeing a different set of trees or a different street corner can trick your brain into a minor "reset."

Nature Time-Out: This is one of my favorite ideas—I kind of coined it. Just like kids need a timeout to calm big emotions, sometimes you need one too. There’s something humbling about going for a hike and wrestling with your thoughts or tripping over a branch because of your racing mind.

The Digital Fast: If you can’t leave your physical space, at least leave the digital one. Our phones often tether us to our problems. Turning it off for four hours can create a "mental border crossing" that feels surprisingly like a getaway. And boy do I need to do this more often!

Intentional Stillness: If travel is a "conversation with yourself,' then you can have that conversation anywhere. It’s just tougher at home. It takes carving out a "sacred" hour—no chores, no emails, just you and a notebook—to mimic that campfire clarity. I actually did this on my nature time out the other week. Just me talking to myself, the trees, and the universe.

Travel is the best medicine, and I will defend this to my last breath, but when the pharmacy is closed, remember that perspective is the real destination, not the plane, even if you desperately want the plane to be your destination. You are still the traveler; you’re just navigating a different kind of wilderness for now.