In 2025, I was laid off from my corporate job and spent a while doing exactly what I thought I was supposed to do next: updating my résumé, applying for roles, scheduling interviews, and trying to convince myself I was ready for another version of the same path.

But the farther I moved toward it, the heavier it felt.

People kept asking me the same question: “What’s next? Travel? Consulting?”

Honestly, I had no idea. For most of my life, I did what I was “supposed” to do. I worked hard, earned good grades, filled my schedule with extracurriculars to appear well-rounded, earned a master’s degree from a prestigious university, and spent two decades building a successful career.

From the outside, it looked stable. Accomplished. Predictable.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I had spent years building a life centered around achievement, productivity, and external validation—only to be abruptly reminded how fragile all of it really was.

So when I was preparing to interview for a role at a company I deeply admired—the kind of opportunity you’re not supposed to walk away from—I did something that felt wildly irresponsible.

I withdrew.

Instead, I listened to a quiet voice in my head that hadn’t really been there before. The one telling me to stop rushing into the next thing. To take a breath. To reflect. To go on an adventure while I still could.

So after weeks of planning—and with a mix of excitement, fear, and a very overpacked backpack—I left for a 93-day solo trip across Europe.

Over the course of three months, I traveled through fifteen countries by train, bus, bike, ferry, and a truly unreasonable amount of walking. Somewhere between navigating train stations, hauling luggage across cobblestone streets, searching for gluten-free meals, and figuring things out as I went, Fork & Footpath began to take shape.

I’m not a professional travel blogger, and before this trip, I had never traveled internationally alone.

What I am is someone who loves thoughtful planning, slower travel, neighborhood exploration, and finding ways to make travel feel more manageable—especially for people navigating food restrictions like celiac disease or planning solo trips for the first time.

The guides here are built around real experience:

• what I actually did

• where I stayed

• how I managed gluten-free travel

• what worked

• what didn’t

• and the smaller moments that made each place memorable

You’ll find a mix of destination guides, practical travel tips, gluten-free dining recommendations, and reflections from traveling through Europe at a pace that tried to leave room for both structure and spontaneity.

If this space helps make your own trip feel a little less overwhelming—or encourages you to take one you weren’t entirely sure you could do—that’s exactly what I hoped for.

Thanks for being here.

— Kelly