78 flights later
I love travelling and I probably always will.
And somehow, in my mind, I still don’t travel enough.
There are still so many places I want to see, but with a full-time job, other passions, and life constantly happening in the background, it’s impossible to do everything at once.
So one evening I opened my flight history and started counting.
I found boarding passes going all the way back to May 2022 and ended up creating an Excel spreadsheet with every single trip.
And honestly… the numbers shocked me.
Over the last four years, I took 78 flights.
I spent 21 months out of 48 outside Scotland — the country I currently call home.
At first glance, it sounds exciting.
And parts of it genuinely were.
There were beautiful adventures and memories I’ll keep forever.
Tiny cafés in Lisbon and Madrid.
Surfing in Haleiwa and Algarve.
Sunsets disappearing between the cacti in Papago Park.
Roasting coffee in Kona.
Discovering The FleetwoodMac gallery on Maui.
Standing in awe at the Grand Canyon.
Genuine Native American art in Santa Fe.
I’m incredibly grateful I got to experience all of it.
But the truth is — most of this time away from home had nothing to do with travelling the world.
Most of it was spent moving between two lives.
Between the same airports.
Between my current home and my previous one.
Since May 2022, I’ve been back in Kraków — the city where I grew up — 17 times.
Partly because I was trying to stay connected to the people I love while building a life somewhere else.
And partly because, realistically, Poland gives me much easier and faster access to healthcare than the UK.
Over those years there were knee surgeries, rehabilitation, eye surgery, blood tests, specialist appointments, and endless health checks that in Britain would often take months to arrange.
So I kept flying back and forth.
Again and again.
There were painful moments too.
My dad passed away unexpectedly, only a month before the holidays we had planned together.
Family friends left us as well.
And every time I thought maybe I was finally done going back and forth, something else happened.
Another reason to return.
Another appointment.
Another goodbye.
In total, I spent around 15 months in Kraków over the last four years.
The irony is that I love peace and quiet as much as travelling.
I love having a safe harbour.
A cosy nest where I can read, write and rest.
Yet somehow I ended up living a life closer to a digital nomad or travel journalist, averaging 19 flights a year while trying to maintain relationships, my health, my work, my life in Scotland, and somehow still having enough energy left to enjoy anything in between. Although sometimes, honestly, I had no energy left at all.
At some point I realised something uncomfortable:
I wasn’t exhausted because I didn’t travel enough or because I lacked holidays.
I was exhausted because I spent years travelling in the same direction — back towards an old life instead of fully building a new one. Trying to keep two worlds alive at the same time.
And somehow never fully resting in either of them.
Maybe the dream of my cosy nest will always remain just that — a dream.
Maybe I’m simply meant to live in transit, and only constant change brings me a sense of balance.
Even now, after writing all these numbers down and realising how exhausting this lifestyle is, I already know I’ll be back in Kraków in two months to see one of my closest friends from university — someone I only get to meet once a year.
And honestly?
Right after coffee with her, I’ll probably book another trip somewhere else.
As she once told me: “You’ll rest in the coffin.”
Logically, I know it’s unhealthy.
It drains me.
Always leaving.
Never fully arriving.
But movement became my addiction.
Even when it exhausts me,
I still crave it.