Staying Gone Long Enough to Make people uncomfortable
I’ve been away from home long enough now that I feel like people are starting to get suspicious when they see on social media that I’m still frolicking around Asia. I picture them thinking: How is she affording this? Is she ever going to come back and get a real job? Is she going to go to grad school?
But I also know no one is really thinking that hard about me or my life — because everyone has their own to worry about.
When I told people about my plan to move to Southeast Asia to teach English, I was met with a mix of quiet judgment and genuine encouragement. The people who encouraged me most were older, especially coworkers who had traveled Asia in the 90s. I was asked point-blank on numerous occasions: Why Vietnam? How will this help your career? Don’t they eat dogs there? — along with other blatantly racist questions about Vietnamese and Asian culture.
Most of the quiet judgment, though, came from people who cared about me. It felt rooted in anxiety about me breaking the unspoken American timeline: graduating college, getting a job or going to grad school, building a career, then starting a family later on. And honestly, I understand that fear. In the economy we live in, it often feels like there is no other option.
“It wasn’t about me being gone – it was about how unfamiliar this kind of travel is for Americans.”
Vacation Culture vs. Travel Culture
After spending so much time among travelers, I’ve reflected a lot on why people travel. In the U.S., travel culture is deeply shaped by capitalism. When my friends and I planned a senior college trip to Mexico at the ripe age of 22, we stayed at an all-inclusive resort. We didn’t have to worry about a single thing for a week — except getting good pictures.
This makes sense. American travel is about escape from the monotony of 40+ hour work weeks. We get limited time off, so of course we want to spend it maximizing comfort and reward. Why would we do anything else?
I’ve also noticed that young Americans tend to travel in very structured ways: study abroad programs, influencer group trips, mission trips, international internships, or short-term work exchanges. When I studied abroad in Belgium, I planned to do a work exchange afterward but never followed through with any applications. I remember thinking, What’s the point? I won’t make money or get a certification.
Travel, for Americans, often needs to be justified by some strategic advantage.
In contrast, the European travel mindset centers travel as a normal part of youth. My British friends told me it’s practically a rite of passage to travel Southeast Asia for a few months at 19 before starting “real life.” Europeans travel for the sake of traveling — to develop hobbies, experience new cultures, or simply party somewhere new. I’ve met French and Scandinavian travelers who say things like, “I just wanted to see what the surfing is like here, so I’m living here for a few months.”
They’re deeply familiar with hostel culture and cross-cultural immersion. Americans, on the other hand, rarely are — because it barely exists for us. Budget travel in the U.S. usually means road-tripping, living out of a car or van, and eating gas station snacks. Cultural immersion often looks like regional food or niche activities. I’ve done all of that, and I loved it — but it’s not the same.
From what I’ve observed as someone from Arkansas meeting European travelers daily, travel for Europeans is about exploration, discomfort, and learning. For Americans, travel is often about escape, comfort, and spending money. Ironically, staying in a $5 hostel has been ten times more fun for me than staying in a $100-a-night all-inclusive resort. That contrast explains the disbelief I was met with when I prioritized seeing the world over starting my career in the U.S.
This isn’t a moral failing — it’s cultural conditioning.
“In the U.S., travel is something to consume. In many other places, it’s just something you do.”
Capitalism & Financial Pressure
So why does long-term travel feel so uncomfortable for Americans? The simple answer is that we can’t get enough time off work. That leaves one seemingly viable option: unemployment. Quit your job and head into the unknown! — said no sane American ever.
To justify long-term travel, Americans often need to be at a breaking point. At one point, there were four Americans in my hostel. Three had just gone through divorces or earth-shattering breakups. Then there was me — so burnt out from working and studying full-time that I couldn’t bring myself to commit to more school or a corporate job.
The only reason I was able to take the leap was because of my life stage and my privilege: I was between college and a “real job,” living with my parents for free, and saving money from a hospitality job. Not everyone has that financial or psychological safety net.
We live under immense time pressure: limited PTO, fear of résumé gaps, the rush to get ahead or simply become stable. Add in the uniquely American stressors — healthcare, student debt, insurance — and long-term travel starts to feel reckless instead of formative.
“Long-term travel is seen as irresponsible, not formative. This was why for me, even wanting to leave felt risky.”
lack of Urgency to leave
Another reason Americans feel little urgency to leave is geography. We are incredibly privileged in this way. We have tropical climates in Hawaii, deserts in Arizona and New Mexico, alpine tundra in Colorado, temperate forests in Arkansas and North Carolina, and wetlands in Louisiana. Our national park system — thank you, Teddy Roosevelt — is one of my favorite things about the U.S.
There is no shortage of natural beauty.
The tradeoff, however, is that diversity without borders often means less exposure to other cultures. Colonization erased many long-standing Indigenous cultures and languages. We don’t have the same density of preserved traditions, languages, and historic cities that exist elsewhere. Hearing people speak so passionately about their cultural heritage can feel heartwarming — and also a little sad — because I don’t always know what I have to offer in return.
For the sake of unity, we speak one dominant language, and our public education system rarely prioritizes learning others. In today’s political climate, cultural differences are often punished rather than celebrated. In my hometown, there are ICE watch groups warning immigrants of raids. The refugee resettlement agency I once volunteered for has been completely defunded.
We’ve been culturally conditioned to fear unfamiliarity. Being in a country where we don’t speak the language feels intimidating. We lack awareness of budget travel systems like hostel culture and public transportation. Especially where I grew up in the South, there is often a quiet rejection of cultural immersion and diversification.
“If you’ve never left the U.S., you don’t know what budget travel can look like—because it barely exists at home.”
Being an American Abroad (and Not the Expected Kind)
While traveling Southeast Asia, it became clear that the few Americans I meet are usually from New York, California, or Florida. As someone from a Southern state, I often feel like an outlier.
One of the funniest conversations I have regularly goes like this:
Traveler: “Hi! What’s your name, and where are you from?”
Me: “I’m Cc. I’m from the States.”
Traveler: “Oh, what state?”
Me: “A small one in the middle — Arkansas.”
Traveler: “Arkansas?” (pronouncing the ‘s’)
Me: “Yeah, it borders Texas. You might know it from the song:
‘Alabama, Arkansas I do love my ma and pa…’”
Traveler: “Oh! Do you have cowboys like Texas?”
Me: “Yep. There are definitely people that dress like cowboys. Rodeos too.”
Traveler: “Wow that’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to see a cowboy.”
People from Arkansas might feel sad knowing what the world thinks of us — which is usually nothing at all — but it’s all in good humor. I love that their entire perception of Arkansas depends on what I tell them. I get the opportunity to represent this area of the country, and prove some of those general stereo types people have about southern states wrong.
Southern Americans abroad are rare, which is a shame. Some of the things people love most about Americans come from the South: the friendliness, the manners, the charm. “Yes ma’am,” “No sir,” holding doors, saying please and thank you — growing up Southern feels like being programmed with a default friendliness setting.
I think for this reason we should embrace our Americanness. I once saw a TikTok creator admit she lies about being American and says she’s Danish because no one asks her to speak Danish. I get it. Being American comes with baggage — people immediately ask about guns, Trump, or Charlie Kirk (I wish I were exaggerating). I’ve said I was Canadian plenty of times. But something I’ve come to the conclusion of is:
“If all the cool self-aware Americans are lying about being American, then no one will know there are cool self-aware Americans”
The Passport We Forget We Have
You don’t fully understand American privilege until you travel with people who don’t share it. For all the ways Americans feel trapped, we have extraordinary freedom of movement — if we choose to use it.
Only about half of Americans hold a valid passport, compared to roughly 75–80% in the UK. Geography plays a role, but so does mindset. English speakers have the privilege of being “lazy” travelers: we can move freely, communicate easily, and pay for comfort when needed.
I assumed traveling Asia would feel extreme — complicated transport, language barriers, logistical chaos. Instead, I found it incredibly accessible. The discomfort I experienced came from choosing a tight budget, not from necessity. And when I wanted comfort, it was always affordable.
The first time I took the public bus in Hanoi, it felt chaotic and overwhelming. A few rides later, I realized I had unlocked the entire city. That small discomfort expanded my world.
Our habitual need for comfort, convenience and consumerism silently narrows our spirit of inquiry and optimism. Although we are extremely privileged to have acquired these habits, there is so much opportunity to grow when we challenge them.
Why Not Later?
Travel comes with nuance and privilege — but that’s not a reason to postpone it indefinitely. The most common excuse I hear is later. Family members told me to start my career and travel once I was stable. The problem is that “later” often turns into never.
Travel doesn’t require wealth — it requires flexibility. Work exchanges, teaching programs, and budget travel dismantle the idea that you must be rich to go. Traveling cheaply builds adaptability, confidence, and perspective. You gain soft skills that matter just as much as an entry-level job: independence, problem-solving, communication, and a global mindset.
When I planned to leave the U.S., I kept pushing the date back. I needed to save more money. I wasn’t ready to end certain relationships. Fear made waiting feel logical.
Then one day, a customer at the restaurant I worked at told me about living in Japan for a year teaching English. I explained my hesitation and said, “I’ll book the flight once I save another $1,000.”
He replied, “It’s not about the money — it’s about the uncertainty. You’ll be just as uncertain after you save that $1,000.”
He was right. I would have been just as scared later as I was then. I learned by doing, because being ready to travel wasn’t a strict number in my bank account or some epiphanic feeling I woke up with one day. Being ready was a decision I had to make.
Reflection
So if you’re an American reading this, the important thing to realize is travel isn’t about abandoning your life — though for some it can be. It’s about seeing beyond the narrow version of what we’re born into. No country is better than another. Every place has systemic issues and extraordinary beauty — in its culture, its landscapes, or the quiet resilience of its people.
“Maybe leaving doesn’t mean you’re lost. Maybe it means you’re paying attention.”