Beyond the map: How travel transforms us

Travel isn’t just about seeing new places—it’s about discovering who you are in the process. For me, that journey began in London.

Regent's Park in London is a glorious oasis and my favorite place in the city.

Whenever I’m in London, I make time for a walk in Regent’s Park. It doesn’t matter if I’m in town for work or pleasure, staying a week or passing through. Without fail, I take the Underground to Baker Street, cross the bridge into the park and follow the path that traces the boating lake. There are prettier areas of the park, but I’m not there for the beauty. I’m there to reunite with my 20-year-old self.

I lived on the park grounds during a study abroad program in college, attending the small university tucked behind the trees on the park’s inner circle. It didn’t start well. Alone and abroad for the first time, my then-undiagnosed anxiety disorder surged. I got sick with a nasty respiratory infection. My roommate was awful in all the ways roommates can be awful. 

Overwhelmed and homesick, I ventured into London life just enough to get by. I learned to navigate the Tube. I figured out the currency. I found where to buy milk (Tesco), books (Waterstones) and cough drops (Boots).

As the days slipped by, however, I eased into London. I started going for long walks in the park, then eventually into the city, to Big Ben, Tate Britain, Covent Garden, Camden Market. On escalators, I found myself automatically standing on the left. I tuned my radio to Capital FM. British words crept into my vocabulary. London was brilliant, I told my mom on the phone a month in. I was absolutely chuffed to be there. 

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was discovering the transformative power of travel – how it changes not just where you are, but who you are. 

Iconic Big Ben

There’s something about disrupting your routine and stepping out of your comfort zone that opens a path to self-discovery. Once we’re out of young adulthood, opportunities for self-exploration can be hard to find. Ours is not a society that encourages self-discovery. Women in particular are constantly told who we are and should be. Even therapy, one of the few sanctioned routes to self reflection, is often stigmatized (which doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it). 

But travel naturally allows for self-discovery, offering a chance to see both the world and yourself in a new light. Even better is solo travel. It strips away the familiar roles and expectations, leaving you with the space to consider: Who am I when no one is watching? What do I truly enjoy, fear, long for, when I am untethered?

On my own in London, I learned to lean into discomfort – and the rewards of doing so. When my friends weren’t interested in a day trip to Surrey, I went alone and found I liked my own company. One day I got lost far south of the city, in a not-great neighborhood after dark, but realized I could stay calm, retrace my steps and eventually figure out where I was. 

I started traveling around the country and into Europe, journaling my observations on each new destination. I discovered that when I followed curiosity instead of anxiety, interesting things would happen: I’d stumble on a Haitian market, discover I liked Indian food, find myself in a church built a thousand years before my country was even founded. I was learning to embrace the exhilaration of a new experience, instead of shrinking away in relief. 

London reshaped my world view, too. In England, I experienced universal healthcare and school uniforms, soccer games and pub life, train travel and train strikes. I witnessed blatant British racism and dry British humor. A single walk to the Tube station might include snippets of French, German, Russian, Hungarian, Japanese, Arabic, and a dozen British accents.

London wasn’t necessarily better or worse than life in America – just different. And that was the point; I was learning there were other ways of living, governing, and connecting. The American way wasn’t the only way. 

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was discovering the transformative power of travel – how it changes not just where you are, but who you are. 

I’ve been chasing that sense of transformation with every trip I’ve taken since that year in London. It is a powerful sensation to feel yourself grow and evolve – to consciously recognize that you are moving closer to the person you want to be. Though other life events have changed me as well, travel has been the catalyst for many of my most notable moments of personal growth – in part because I realized transformation doesn’t have to be random. It can happen by design through intentional travel. 

Intentional travel is about exploring the world with purpose, focusing on meaningful experiences, cultural connection, personal growth, and sustainability over sightseeing and bucket-list tourism. It’s not a new idea, but it’s one that has gained traction recently, with more travel companies now curating experiences designed to help travelers grow.

For me, intentional travel means setting a personal goal for a trip, or choosing a destination that will push me out of my comfort zone. In 2018, I rented a car in Scotland to explore the Highlands despite my fears of driving on the left. In 2019, I hiked part of the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu instead of taking the train, pushing myself physically. In 2023, after leaving a toxic job, I went to Japan and spent time each day at a spiritual site to reclaim my sense of self.

And this past Christmas, I went to Istanbul to challenge my own misconceptions about Turkey as a destination “not safe” for female travelers. (Spoiler: It was not only safe but welcoming and wonderful.)

Park bench selfie in Regent's Park on one of my many return visits.

With each experience, I came home feeling more confident, more empathetic, more aware of my privilege, more open-minded. As the American writer Mary Anne Radmacher put it, “I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.”

Self-discovery also happens organically in my travels. But practicing intentional travel has made my experiences richer and more authentic. It reminds me to surrender to each place—to the good, the bad, and even the deeply uncomfortable.

That’s the kind of traveler I want to be: someone who lets a place and its people into my soul in authentic and meaningful ways. That’s the kind of human I strive to be: someone who lives an authentic and meaningful life. 

Like me, London has changed over the years. But Regent’s Park is still the familiar oasis I cherish. Each visit, I think of all the versions of myself who walked here before: at 20 and 22, 30 and 35 and 40 and beyond. Sometimes I take stock of my life, reflecting on what I want more or less of. Sometimes I write in my journal, or eat lunch or have coffee in the sun, simply enjoying the moment. 

At some point at every visit I invariably turn up the path toward the college where I studied. It’s now a university – bigger, more international. It’s also been fenced off from the rest of the park, secured by a heavy iron gate. But the ivy-covered dormitory is still there; so is the bench under the willow tree where I used to read. 

I always send a silent thank you to the 20-year-old version of me for being brave enough to take her first hesitant steps into the world. And I wonder how many more versions of myself I have yet to meet – and where in the world I might find them.