Last year, I travelled through Southeast Asia for eight months. Before that, I quit my full-time, stable teaching job in a specialist secure unit. On paper, it was sensible employment: regular income, structure, pension, routine. In reality, I felt trapped in a groundhog-day version of life. Something in me had reached a point of quiet rebellion.
I had one of those “life is short” realisations. I needed an upgrade. I needed reinvention. I needed space to experiment, to inject new energy into my existence, and to shake up the stale patterns that had started to suffocate me. I also wanted to experience some discomfort. Not suffering, exactly, but the kind of discomfort that stretches you, wakes you up, and reminds you that you are still alive. If you would like to know more about why I quit my well-paid teaching job and spent eight months travelling through Southeast Asia, I wrote more about it in this blog post:
The Travel I Never Had
When I lived in Poland, I never had the chance to travel in that carefree, expansive way. Gap years were not really part of my reality. They were unheard of. Long-term travel felt like something other people did — people from richer countries, people with easier lives, people who had somehow been given permission to explore.
When I moved to the UK at the age of 29 and listened to fellow teachers telling stories about Peru, Bali, Thailand, and other faraway places, I often felt embarrassed. I had a massive appetite for travel, but very little travel history. Long-term travel seemed glamorous, inspiring, almost mythical to me.
So, eventually, I took the plunge.
And I am glad I did.
A Revitalising, Humbling Adventure
Travelling for eight months was revitalising, eye-opening, humbling, and at times deeply uncomfortable. I visited extraordinary places in India, Vietnam, Singapore, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Malaysia. The year became fast-paced, action-packed, and memorable in a way my previous routine had not been.
I went ziplining. I tried paramotorgliding. I floated in a hot air balloon over Laos. I saw the temples of Angkor Wat in Siem Reap. I explored stunning scenery in Thailand and Vietnam. I went island-hopping, hiking, cruising, and joined boat excursions. I ate delicious food and saw landscapes I will never forget.
For years, my life had felt too narrow. Travel widened it.
Working Online While Travelling
I did not simply travel. I also worked part-time as an online ESL tutor, teaching students in Eastern Europe while moving through different countries and time zones.
That part was not as romantic as it may sound.
When it was late afternoon or early evening for my students, it was often midnight or 1:00 a.m. in Thailand. I had to plan lessons around time differences, hotel check-ins, transport days, unpredictable Wi-Fi, power cuts, and the general chaos of being a moving human with a laptop.
Some hotels claimed to have excellent internet, but in reality the connection was poor or unstable. Power and Wi-Fi outages happened. I relied heavily on my portable router and mobile data. Looking back, I am still surprised that I managed to complete hundreds of successful lessons despite all these difficulties.
It taught me that I am far more resourceful than I sometimes realise.
The Loneliness of Being a Working Traveller
Because I was teaching online, I needed a professional environment. That meant private rooms. I could not simply stay in noisy hostels, share dorms, or be constantly surrounded by other travellers. I needed quiet, privacy, and a reliable space from which to work.
As a result, I did not make many friends.
Guided tours were fun and gave me moments of connection, but overall, working while travelling can be isolating. It is not the same as being a carefree backpacker with no responsibilities and no online lessons at midnight.
Travelling in your 40s can also feel brave, but unusual. Many long-term travellers are in their 20s or early 30s. Others travel later in life after retirement. There are plenty of couples, friendship groups, and families. I was a social outlier: a solo woman in her 40s, working online, carrying both freedom and responsibility in the same suitcase.
The Cost to My Body
One of the things I struggled with most was the heat and humidity. I love movement, but in Southeast Asia, exercise became much harder. I did not run. I did yoga less often. Even in an air-conditioned room, yoga could feel exhausting.
My diet also changed.
At home, I eat very healthily: smoothies, leafy greens, vegetables, fresh fruit, chia seeds, hemp seeds, goji berries, spirulina, chlorella, and all the little superfood rituals that make me feel strong and nourished. I am used to substantial portions of vegetables, salads, and nutrient-dense meals.
In Southeast Asia, I was surprised by how expensive fruit and vegetables could be, especially if I wanted the kind of varied, fresh, abundant diet I have at home. Many meals were dominated by rice. Delicious rice, yes — but still rice. By the end, I felt like a mango sticky rice survivor.
Even when I ordered salads in restaurants, the vegetable portions were often small and not very diverse compared with what I prepare at home. Around month six, I started to feel nutritionally depleted.
Because of the heat, reduced exercise, and less nourishing food, I gained just over three kilograms.
The Financial Reality
Long-term travel also affected my finances.
Yes, I worked online, but only part-time. I had also left behind a mortgaged property in the UK. Even while travelling, I still had to cover council tax, service charges, and mortgage payments. I temporarily switched to interest-only mortgage payments for six months, which helped, but the financial pressure was still there.
Travel was exhilarating, but it was not free. It created a dent in my savings. It destabilised my financial buffer, my diet, and my exercise routine.
This is the part people do not always mention in dreamy travel posts. Long-term travel can be rejuvenating, but it can also be destabilising. It can expand your soul while quietly attacking your spreadsheets.
Returning Home and Rebuilding
It has now been seven months since I returned to the UK, and slowly things are getting back on track.
My weight is back to normal. My diet is healthy and nourishing again. I have run my first half-marathon. I have achieved personal bests at ParkRun. I am rebuilding my fitness, my financial buffer, and my sense of direction.
But I did not return to the same person I was before I left.
Travel changed something in me. It created spaciousness. It gave me a reset. It showed me that I do not want to be trapped in a conventional 9–5 box again. Working online while travelling made me realise that I am not built for a typical office environment or a life shaped entirely by routine and institutional structure.
Was It Worth It?
Yes. Absolutely.
If I could turn back time, I would make the same decision again.
The trip gave me precious memories. It reminded me how fortunate I was to be able to travel, work online, and still maintain my home in the UK. It made me more grateful. It gave me perspective. It showed me beauty, inconvenience, discomfort, freedom, uncertainty, and possibility.
It also made me more creative.
Since returning to the UK, I have been working on this blog, Outlanga, Etsy prints, and my tunes. I feel as though the spaciousness unlocked by those eight months of travel has opened inner rooms that were previously closed. I am now refining abilities that had been waiting inside me for years.
I do not think I would have reached this expansive creative state without the travel reset. I needed to leave the old life behind for a while in order to hear myself more clearly.
Travel did not solve everything. It disrupted me. It cost me. It challenged my body, my finances, and my routines.
But it also brought me back to life and my authentic self.
And for that, I am grateful.
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