Sipping coffee at the airport as I await my 16-hour flight from Johannesburg to New York City, I’m winding down after 2+ months on the road. My cell phone has had limited service so this is a perfect time to sift through some old messages. As I scroll through, I get a lot of interesting questions both from friends and family. The usual one is “How is it going?” or “What is something cool you’ve seen?” Although these are normal questions, I often get the “How is your holiday going?” or “How are your travels, I love to travel!” to which I often cringe and reply “I’ve been traveling, I need a holiday!”

What People Think I Do vs What I Really Do

People imagine that for weeks at a time my life is a string of lazy days around the pool drinking colorful drinks with little umbrellas in them. While there may be an occasional day where I can enjoy such a luxury, it’s rare and the gritty reality of life as a traveler is very different. It’s one where you are in a virtually constant state of unbalance and facing unique challenges every day.

Holiday vs. Travel

There’s a big difference between going on holiday and living on the road.
A holiday is curated comfort — a soft landing. You choose your hotel, plan your dinners, expect warm towels, and assume things like toilets, WiFi, and sleep are guaranteed.

Travel, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. Travel is surrender.

Travel is landing in a place where you don’t understand the language, the customs, or the transportation system — but you figure it out anyway.
It’s carrying a backpack that gets mysteriously heavier every day.
It’s wandering through bus stations that aren’t even on Google Maps.
It’s trying local cuisine that sometimes feels like a daring act of faith.
It’s negotiating with tuk-tuk drivers, dodging monkeys who think everything is food, and learning how to sleep anywhere — from airports to huts to the back of a truck.

This past stretch in Africa has been the perfect example. People imagine safari as luxury tents and infinity pools overlooking golden plains. Meanwhile I’m out there being eaten alive by mosquitos that Wikipedia casually mentions might carry Zika. I’m sweating through 100-degree heat, rationing my last baby wipe, praying the single bar of WiFi holds long enough for a WhatsApp message to send.

I’m eating whatever the local community puts in front of me — sometimes delicious, sometimes “mysterious,” always memorable.
I’m hopping between villages where electricity is inconsistent, showers are optional, and “bathroom” is an abstract term open to interpretation.
And at night? I’m literally sleeping under the stars, listening to lions in the distance, wondering if they consider humans a midnight snack.

Why I Choose Travel Anyway

It’s uncomfortable. It’s unpredictable. It takes you apart and puts you back together differently.

But that’s the point.

Travel forces you to adapt, to pay attention, to meet people whose worlds look nothing like your own. It removes the buffer between you and reality. It teaches humility, patience, and presence. And somewhere in the chaos — between a lost bus, a strange meal, and a night without WiFi — you find moments you could never script on a holiday.

Moments that change you.

So yes, I’ve been traveling. I need a holiday.
But I wouldn’t trade the wild, unpolished reality of the past two months for anything.

Because holidays are for rest.
Travel is for becoming.

Credit: Dimitry Berg