THE BIGGEST REASON TRAVEL CHANGES PEOPLE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH TRAVEL

In November, I'll be travelling to Japan.

Like most people, I've spent hours researching hotels, restaurants, temples, train passes and neighbourhoods. I've watched YouTube videos, saved Instagram posts and built a list of places I don't want to miss. Planning the trip has become part of the excitement.

But somewhere between comparing hotels and bookmarking ramen shops, I realised I'd been asking myself the wrong questions.

Instead of asking, "Where do I want to go?" I found myself asking something completely different.

Who do I want to become while I'm there?

That question has stayed with me.

When I was younger, travel meant one thing.

Fun.

It was about chasing cheap flights, staying out until sunrise, laughing with mates and collecting stories that usually started with, "You won't believe what happened..."

The destination almost didn't matter. As long as we were together, we knew we'd have a good time.

It's not that I don't enjoy that anymore.

I do.

It's just a different kind of fun now.

These days, I find myself looking forward to wandering through streets I've never seen before with absolutely no destination in mind. I want to sit in a tiny family-run restaurant where I can't read the menu. I want to learn why another culture does things differently instead of asking whether it's better or worse. I want to watch how people live their ordinary lives because I've realised that's where a country's real character exists.

Perhaps that's what getting older does.

Or perhaps it's something else.

Maybe it's the quiet realisation that time is our most valuable currency.

Every year when annual leave comes around, I get excited about choosing the next destination. But lately I've started looking at those opportunities differently.

One thought changed everything for me.

I don't know how many overseas trips I have left.

None of us do.

If I take one international holiday each year until I'm seventy, maybe I have thirty-five adventures left.

Maybe it's twenty.

Maybe it's fifty if I'm lucky.

I hope it's more.

Whatever the number is, I know one thing.

It's getting smaller.

That isn't meant to be depressing.

Quite the opposite.

It makes every journey feel more meaningful.

It reminds me that I'm not just choosing where to go next.

I'm choosing how I want to spend one of a limited number of experiences I'll ever have.

And that changes everything.

WHEN DID TRAVEL STOP BEING ABOUT SEEING PLACES?

I don't think travel changes people because they board a plane.

If it did, every tourist would return home wiser.

Every passport stamp would automatically become personal growth.

It doesn't work like that.

Some people visit fifty countries and never really change.

Others visit one and return seeing the world, and themselves, completely differently.

The difference isn't the destination.

It's what they pay attention to while they're there.

I've started to realise that travel gives us something that's become incredibly rare.

Space.

Not just physical space.

Mental space.

Space away from routines.

Space away from emails.

Space away from notifications.

Space away from expectations.

For perhaps the first time in months, sometimes years, we're left alone with our own thoughts.

Modern life is noisy.

Our phones wake us before the sun does.

We rush from meeting to meeting.

Even when we're sitting quietly, there's usually a podcast playing or a screen in front of us.

We're constantly consuming information.

Travel interrupts that.

Imagine sitting on a train somewhere between Tokyo and Kyoto.

The countryside rolls past your window.

You don't understand every announcement.

Nobody knows your job.

Nobody expects anything from you.

You're simply there.

Present.

I've begun to wonder whether people don't "find themselves" while travelling.

Maybe they simply hear themselves again.

That's one of the reasons journaling has become such an important habit in my own life. It creates space to slow down, organise your thoughts and capture insights before they disappear. If you're new to journaling, I'd recommend starting with our Guide to Journaling for Men, where I explore why reflection is one of the most underrated tools for personal growth.

Maybe the answers were already there.

Travel just removed enough noise for them to finally listen.

That's one of the reasons I'm taking a journal to Japan.

Not because I want to record every meal I eat or every temple I visit.

I want to capture the thoughts that only seem to appear when life slows down.

Because I know something about those thoughts.

If I don't write them down, they'll probably disappear within a week of getting home.

YOU PROBABLY HAVE FEWER TRIPS LEFT THAN YOU THINK

I don't think we appreciate experiences until we realise they're finite.

One day you'll take your last holiday with your parents.

You just won't know it's your last.

One day you'll take your last trip before your children grow up.

One day you'll visit a place you've always dreamed of seeing for the final time.

Life doesn't announce these moments.

It simply lets them pass.

That's why I've stopped measuring travel by countries visited.

I'm far more interested in perspective collected.

I don't want to come home saying,

"Japan was amazing."

I want to be able to answer a much harder question.

Why?

What challenged me?

What surprised me?

What assumption about life turned out to be wrong?

What did another culture teach me that I couldn't have learned at home?

Those are the souvenirs I actually want to bring back.

Because the best souvenirs don't sit on shelves.

They quietly become part of the person you are.

THE BEST SOUVENIRS ARE INVISIBLE

Ask someone about their favourite holiday and notice what they don't talk about.

They rarely tell you about the airport.

They don't remember the hotel check-in.

They probably can't remember what they ordered for lunch on the third day.

Instead, they tell stories.

The tiny restaurant they stumbled across because they took the wrong street.

The elderly local who insisted on helping them despite not speaking the same language.

The train ride that turned into an unexpected conversation.

The sunrise they almost slept through.

The moment they stood somewhere they'd dreamed about for years and realised it looked nothing like the photos, yet somehow felt even better.

The older I get, the more I realise the greatest souvenirs aren't things you can pack in your suitcase.

They're moments.

Conversations.

Perspectives.

Lessons.

That's one of the reasons I'm excited about Japan.

Of course I want to see the famous places.

I want to walk through Kyoto's temples, experience the energy of Tokyo and eat more ramen than I probably should.

But I already suspect the moments I'll treasure most won't be on my itinerary.

They'll be the moments I never planned.

The quiet coffee shop I duck into because it's raining.

The little family restaurant that wasn't on Google.

The old craftsman who's spent forty years perfecting one simple skill.

The commuter train where I quietly observe a completely different way of life.

Those moments won't make the front page of my photo album.

They'll make me think.

And sometimes, thinking is the greatest gift travel gives us.

Travel has a funny way of humbling us.

Suddenly you're the beginner again.

You can't read every sign.

You don't know every custom.

You point at menus.

You accidentally stand in the wrong place.

You become dependent on the kindness of strangers.

For a little while, your confidence disappears.

And something wonderful replaces it.

Curiosity.

Children learn because they're comfortable not knowing.

Adults often stop learning because they're uncomfortable looking like beginners.

Travel gives us permission to become beginners again.

Maybe that's why it changes us.

Not because we know more when we arrive.

Because we're willing to admit we don't.

WHY I'M TAKING A JOURNAL TO JAPAN

A few years ago I probably would've packed another T-shirt before I'd packed a notebook.

Now it's the opposite.

The journal has become one of the first things I'll put into my suitcase.

Not because I want to write pages every night.

In fact, I probably won't.

Sometimes one sentence is enough.

"Watching commuters in Tokyo made me realise how rushed my own mornings have become."

Or...

"Today I learnt that slowing down isn't wasting time. It's paying attention."

That's all.

Because years from now I won't remember every meal.

I'll forget the names of many of the streets I walked.

Some of the temples will blur together.

Memory always edits.

It keeps the highlights and quietly deletes everything in between.

A journal does something photographs can't.

Photographs show you where you were.

A journal reminds you who you were.

That's exactly why we created The Journal by Memoirs By Him. It isn't designed to record an itinerary. It's designed to help you capture the thoughts, perspectives and lessons that travel has a habit of revealing when life finally slows down.

When I read those pages in ten years' time, I won't just remember Japan.

I'll remember the version of me that arrived there.

The questions I was asking.

The habits I wanted to change.

The things I noticed.

The lessons I didn't want to lose once normal life returned.

That's why journaling has become part of the journey.

Not after it.

During it.

Because perspective has an expiry date if you don't capture it.

BEFORE I GO, I'M ASKING MYSELF THESE QUESTIONS

Before every meaningful journey, I think it's worth preparing more than your suitcase.

Prepare your mindset.

These are the questions I'll be taking with me to Japan.

BEFORE YOU LEAVE

• What do I hope this journey teaches me about myself?

• What assumptions about life might be challenged?

• What habit or mindset do I want to leave behind while I'm away?

• What kind of person do I hope to be when I return home?

• If this trip changed one thing about my life, what would I want that to be?

DURING YOUR TRIP

• What surprised me today?

• What conversation or moment do I never want to forget?

• What have I noticed here that I wish existed back home?

• When did I feel completely present today?

• What has today taught me about myself?

AFTER YOU RETURN

• What perspective do I want to keep long after this holiday ends?

• What part of this culture do I admire most?

• How has this trip changed the way I see my own life?

• What promise am I making to myself because of this journey?

• If I had to describe this trip in one sentence, what would I write?

FINAL THOUGHTS

One day, I'll unpack my suitcase after returning from Japan.

The passport will go back into the drawer.

The washing will pile up.

Work will start again.

Life will gradually return to normal.

I know that.

What I don't want is for the perspective to disappear with it.

I don't want Japan to become another folder of photos I'll scroll through once a year.

I want it to become part of who I am.

I want to remember the conversations that challenged me.

The meals that slowed me down.

The streets that reminded me to look up instead of at my phone.

The moments that quietly changed the way I think.

Maybe that's the biggest reason travel changes people.

Not because they boarded a plane.

Not because they visited another country.

But because, somewhere along the journey, they became present enough to notice something they'd been missing all along.

That's why I believe the greatest journeys aren't measured by kilometres travelled or passport stamps collected.

They're measured by perspective.

By curiosity.

By the memories that continue shaping you long after you've come home.

So before your next trip, pack the essentials.

Your passport.

A camera.

A sense of curiosity.

And a journal.

Because the greatest souvenir you'll ever bring home won't be something you place on a shelf.

It will be the person you become along the way.