How We’re Traveling for a Year: Planning, Pace, and Priorities

By now, you probably understand why we chose to step into this chapter. The next question is the natural one:

How?

What does a year—or more—of travel actually look like?

As we shared our plans with friends and family, the same questions came up again and again:

·       How do you live out of a suitcase for that long?

·       Are you going to work?

·       Won’t you get sick of moving?

·       How many places are you trying to see?

·       How do you pack for every climate?

·       Aren’t you worried about not immediately getting another job?

·       How can you afford this?

They’re fair questions. We asked many of them ourselves.

The honest answer is that, while we were planning this journey, we didn’t know exactly what it would look like either. That uncertainty was part of the leap. What steadied us was a simple truth:

We could always stop.

Long-term travel is a privilege—travel always is. Nothing about it is permanent or irreversible. If it stopped making sense, we could fly back to the U.S., rent a place, and find jobs. We’ve done that before. Knowing we had an exit made it easier to step fully into the unknown.

Building Our Framework

Preparation came first in practical ways. We went into full research mode—reading blogs, watching videos, and learning how others approached long‑term travel and what it realistically cost.

We set a general savings goal to supplement Ibe’s retirement income while traveling, factoring in transportation, lodging, food, insurance, and the everyday bills that don’t disappear just because you leave home.

Then we focused on building that cushion—and surpassed it. That foundation gave us freedom. Not extravagance, but choice.

Alongside the financial planning, we started talking about what we actually wanted from this time. We knew we wanted the journey to be global, but a year is still finite. (Spoiler: it’s now looking closer to a year and a half.) We made a very long list of places, then began the harder work—talking through priorities.

What mattered most to us? Experiences? History? Food? Landscapes? Wildlife?

Those conversations shaped everything that followed.

From Destination Lists to Travel Anchors

Once we had a sense of what drew us in, we dove deeper into logistics: seasons, weather patterns, crowd levels, visa rules, affordability, and safety. Slowly, a rough route began to take shape—not a fixed itinerary, but a loose flow that balanced climate, cost, and distance.

And then we changed our minds. Frequently. Often. A lot.

Over more than a year of planning, we refined and re‑refined our ideas. Along the way, certain experiences rose to the top: traveling by camper van in a country new to both of us, tackling physically and mentally challenging treks, and witnessing animal migrations that follow their own timelines.

These became our anchor points.

Instead of racing from destination to destination, we planned our long-term travel around moments that mattered to us—and let everything else bend around them.

Adapting to the Reality of Long-Term Travel

The hardest part of preparing for this journey wasn’t logistics. Not to say the planning was easy—it wasn’t. But the greater challenge was recalibrating how we think about travel.

Letting Go of the Vacation Pace

Long‑term travel is fundamentally different from a vacation.

As vacation travelers, we had a rhythm: fast, active, adventurous, food‑focused. We could anticipate each other’s moods and energy levels because we’d done it so many times. But those trips were short—three, five, ten days, maybe two weeks.

This is different.

You can’t travel at a vacation pace for 365 days. Trying to do so would turn something meaningful into something exhausting.

So we looked back at what we’d learned over years of travel.

When we first started, we chased what was most visible online. Popular places are popular for a reason—and, often, they’re incredible. But we began to notice that sometimes we were checking boxes rather than listening to ourselves.

Take Tokyo. Two of the most commonly recommended must‑dos are the Shibuya Crossing and Tokyo Tower. We enjoyed the city most in quieter moments—standing at a small stand‑up bar in Shinjuku, eating skewers, and watching daily life unfold.

That realization changed everything.

As we paid closer attention, the clearer our preferences became. It showed up in small choices—like trying snowmobiling instead of skiing in a ski town, because that’s simply what appealed to us. And in bigger ones, like planning an entire trip around Singapore and Malaysia because we wanted to complete a Super Spartan race. Even on Mt. Fuji, it meant choosing a quiet sunrise from our hut at the seventh station over climbing overnight just to say we reached the summit for sunrise.

None of those choices were about doing more. They were about doing what felt right to us.

Following Our Own Compass

Defining our travel style went hand in hand with letting go of expectations—others’ and our own. At home. On vacation. In life.

When we were living in Japan, we began to feel those shifts more clearly. With each adventure, we were moving away from the constant urgency of everyday life and toward something slower, more intentional.

Following our own compass has meant noticing how often expectations—spoken and unspoken—try to shape our decisions. Sometimes that shows up in small ways, like feeling pulled toward the popular place instead of the afternoon that actually suits us. Other times, it shows up in much bigger ways—questions about work, timelines, and what a “normal” next chapter is supposed to look like.

Stepping away from those assumptions hasn’t been about rejecting responsibility or ambition. It’s been about choosing deliberately, rather than by default.

Travel didn’t create that clarity—but it gave us the space to listen to it.

What We Believe About Travel

We still research. We still read blogs, watch videos, and save recommendations. But we no longer feel obligated to do everything—or anything—just because it’s labeled a “must.”

Not doing something doesn’t mean we missed out. It means we chose.

This is what defines how we travel now:

·       Loose plans, firm priorities. We plan enough to feel grounded, not trapped.

·       Pace is non‑negotiable. Rest is part of the experience.

·       Interest over obligation. We follow curiosity, not checklists.

·       Flexibility over perfection. The best moments are rarely scheduled.

This is how we travel now. Not because it’s optimized or impressive, but because it feels aligned.

Nomad Notes isn’t meant to be a guidebook or a checklist. It is not about telling you where to go or how to do it “right.”

It's about honesty.

It's a place to hold stories, reflections, and lessons that come along with the decision to take a year to travel. Less about motion for its own sake, and more about paying attention—to place, to time, and to ourselves.

This is the framework we’re carrying with us, no matter what road we’re on.

Continue the journey

 → Nomad Notes #3: Long Term Travel: What it is, What it isn’t, and What it’s Taught Us