There’s a strange thing I’ve noticed about time.

When life gets repetitive — same alarm, same meetings, same commute, same small talk — the days blur together. Weeks feel like they vanish in a blink. You look up and wonder: Where did the year go?

And that’s when it hits me — routine isn’t just predictable. It’s numbing. It makes time slip quietly through your fingers without you even noticing.

I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want life to be a checklist of tasks and to-dos. I want to feel my days. I want to remember them.

That’s why I switch off.

That’s why I make it a point to switch off. Not just turning off devices, but stepping away from the habitual patterns that dull my senses. I pack a bag, book a ticket, and immerse myself in the unfamiliar. Sometimes completely. No screens. No pings. No pressure to “be productive.” Chasing sunsets in a place where I don’t know the language — or the rules.

When I travel, I feel awake.

Suddenly, time stretches. Moments feel fuller. I start to notice the little things — like how the breeze feels different in a new country, or how strangers smile with their eyes. I laugh more. I get lost (and don’t mind it). I eat things I can’t name, and meet people I’ll never forget.

It’s in those unfamiliar places that I remember who I am — beyond titles, deadlines, and routines. Travel doesn’t just refresh me. It reminds me what it means to live.

I don’t travel to escape my life.

I travel so life doesn’t escape me.