Travel Reflection: Beyond the Hustle

Choosing values over expectations — and experience over credentials

Fork & Footpath wasn’t a long-held dream. It didn’t begin as a brand or a business idea. It emerged from a life pivot — the kind you don’t choose, but the kind that makes it impossible to ignore how far out of alignment you’ve drifted.

For most of my life, I did what I was “supposed” to do. I worked hard. I earned good grades. I stacked extracurriculars to appear “well-rounded.” I earned a master’s degree from a prestigious university. I built both soft and hard skills and spent two decades climbing a career ladder that, from the outside, looked undeniably successful.

Eventually, I landed at Google, which I believed was my dream job at my ideal company. From the start, though, something felt fragile. Not the work itself, but the team’s place within the larger organization. I joined in the post-pandemic era, as power shifted back toward employers and artificial intelligence began reshaping entire industries. For more than a year, I suspected my role might not last.

Rising rents and that lingering uncertainty led me to move back in with my parents to build a financial cushion. Three years into my time at Google, my entire core team and leadership group were eliminated in a reduction-in-force — a “RIF,” in corporate shorthand.

After my layoff, my responsibilities narrowed to the essentials: COBRA (wildly expensive), a storage unit, and manageable day-to-day expenses. Combined with a generous severance, it created something I hadn’t felt in years — space.

That being said, I did what every “responsible” person does. I updated my résumé. I applied for jobs. I lined up interviews.

But my heart wasn’t in it. I had spent decades building a life centered on achievement, stability, and external validation — and had just been chewed up and spit out by the very system to which I’d devoted most of my adult life.

So when I reached the final stage of preparing for an interview for a role and company I deeply admired — the kind of opportunity you don’t walk away from — I did something that felt wildly irresponsible.

I withdrew.

Instead, I committed to planning a three-month solo trip through Europe.

I had never traveled alone. I’d never been to Central Europe. I’m not spontaneous by nature — I’m deliberate, a planner, someone who likes her ducks in a row. But when I told my friend Tess about the plan, she wasn’t surprised.

“You’re extremely independent,” she said. “This will be amazing for you.” Then she laughed and added, “And I hate you a little,” because she was juggling two kids and a demanding job — and I was untethered.

Fork & Footpath exists to share what I learned along the way — recommendations, reflections, and practical tips — while also making space for the discomfort that comes with starting over. Imposter syndrome has been part of the process. So has growth. My international travel experience is limited. I’m not an expert. I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel.

And yet.

Whenever I tell someone about the trip, the reaction is always the same: amazement. Suddenly, it feels like I did something extraordinary. And in many ways, I did. But the trip is over now. And when you return home to people who didn’t share the experience, there’s a strange sense that it all happened in a vacuum.

So you find ways to keep it alive. For me, that’s this project.

Right now, I’m working full-time at Trader Joe’s while I try to carve out a path as an independent consultant, drawing on more than two decades of experience in the corporate world. I wear a wrist brace at work — inflammation from repeatedly lifting my backpack during the trip — and nearly every shift, someone asks about it. Sometimes it’s a coworker. Sometimes it’s a customer. The trip comes up. It’s a strange thing to compress a life-changing experience into a 30-second conversation at a checkout counter. I don’t want to brag, but I also cherish any excuse to remember.

One day, a coworker said, “I hear you’re a world traveler — I’m going to Budapest later this year and have questions.” I almost turned around to see who she talking to.

But it was me.

We talked. I shared some of what I’d learned. She found it genuinely helpful. And those moments are when I feel most confident about this project and its purpose.

Fork & Footpath nearly didn’t happen because I kept asking myself: Who am I to share this? I don’t have credentials that prove expertise. I’m not a professional travel blogger. I’m not an authority.

What I do have is lived experience — lessons I couldn’t find in guidebooks, insights that only surfaced by doing the thing, and a renewed commitment to remembering that there are other ways to live besides constant hustle and productivity.

I’m still learning.

But if something I share helps someone feel more confident, more prepared, or more open to choosing a different path — even briefly — that feels like enough.

Grateful you’re here. More to come.

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