I am lying on a massage table somewhere far, far away. Two horses hover beside me. A woman speaks to me in tongues while performing reiki. I am subsequently bidden to release my ancestral trauma by setting fire to some crumpled paper in a bowl. I do so with gusto. I am, I convince myself, being transformed.
I carry this gleeful, hopeful sentiment with me on the plane home. I feel light and free; my heart is filled with hope. But the very next day, I suffer a monumental insult from someone I considered a friend. Three months on, I am just as "skint" and single as I ever was—and my promised gym-toned body hasn’t arrived either. As I stare down the barrel of the Piccadilly line tunnel at Covent Garden for the 8,000th time, it appears my requested manifestations haven’t arrived on cue. Given the retreat carried a $25,000-odd price tag, I’d have expected the universe to at least put me in the "skip-the-queue" line for psychic fulfillment.
The Modern Gospel of Self-Optimization
I am not alone in hoping for something to change post-holiday. We have become a culture that views the vacation not merely as a respite from labor, but as a mandatory software update for the human psyche. Many of us buy into the idea of a break away as a total reset, a chance to usher in a new iteration of ourselves. It is a cliché that young people head off to "find themselves" on a gap year for a reason, but that quest for self-discovery has now been commodified into a high-stakes, high-cost industry.
"When we’ve invested a significant amount of money and meaning into a holiday, we start to expect that we’ll come back as a different version of ourselves," explains Dr. Jade Thomas of Luxe Psychology Practice. "But we are returning to the same job, the same responsibilities, the same relationships, and the same stressors. So, there can be a stark contrast between how we felt in that environment and the reality we are returning to."
This is not even the first time I have tried to usher in a new transformative era for my life by attempting to escape it. Last year, I spent three days in India being rubbed from head to toe in oil by two women in tandem. Naked. (In my defense, the retreat came recommended by Queen Camilla—and Sting.) But after swallowing my prescribed homeopathic pills upon return, I was still getting ghosted by men on apps all the same. The Ayurveda, it seems, did not come across especially strongly over Hinge.
The Economics of the "Transformation" Industry
The current market for "transformative travel" is booming. We have moved far beyond the traditional all-inclusive resort. Today’s wellness-seekers are being courted by a crop of innovative retreats that promise to solve all human ills. These journeys incorporate everything from kinesiology and psychedelics to juice cleanses, breathwork, and EMDR therapy, all proffering one key promise: you shall return home anew.
This is inevitably seductive to those of us who feel a level of underlying discontent. I have been through the mill with dating over the last two years, putting myself out there again and again only to have a string of experiences leave me feeling that, somehow, I am not enough as I am. Could it be that the key to unlocking my highest, most worthy self is as simple as a change of scenery?
The data suggests otherwise. Dr. Jade notes that while changing environments can provide a temporary dopamine spike, it rarely addresses the root cause of personal unhappiness. "Switching environments can absolutely influence how we feel," she says. "Novelty, anticipation, and a break from routine can all temporarily boost our mood. But if the underlying dissatisfaction is coming from something internal—such as low self-esteem, chronic stress, or feeling unfulfilled—changing our physical location doesn’t necessarily alter the internal pattern."
A Philosophical Critique of Modern Tourism
In her biting critique of modern tourism for The New Yorker, writer Agnes Callard argued that travel is frequently an exercise in self-deception. She suggests that we convince ourselves that moving our bodies through physical space alters who we are when, in reality, most travelers simply perform uncharacteristic habits for seven days—buying local trinkets, eating unusual cuisine, and pretending to care about regional flora—before returning to their exact baseline. Her conclusion? Stop moving. Be happy at home.
I find myself in a professional tug-of-war with this sentiment. As a journalist for Traveler, I have had the great fortune to visit some of the most wondrous locations on Earth. I have galloped across the Kenyan plains on horseback, snorkeled in the turquoise waters of the Maldives, and seen the cherry blossoms fall in South Korea. I have slept in a tent on the top of the Bighorn Mountains and laid down under the world’s starriest skies. I cherish these experiences deeply. To visit these places has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
However, it is true that in recent years, travel has undergone an exhausting promotion. Somewhere along the line, a simple holiday stopped being enough. Modern tourism demands that journeys should now double as a spiritual reckoning or a personal renaissance. We have turned the act of exploring into an act of self-improvement, and in doing so, we have sucked the joy out of the journey.
The Paradox of Expectation
The weight of expectation is amplified by the digital age. Social media algorithms mean that we can pre-script our trips down to the minute; we know exactly what the sunset will look like, which local restaurant serves the most photo-worthy pasta, and which exact vantage point yields the best view of the coastline. We have turned travel into a content-creation exercise.
But when you have paid a premium to see the sunrise from the top of Mount Batur, a cloudy morning isn’t simply a cloudy morning; it is a crushing, expensive disappointment. We have gamified our leisure time, and the "score" is measured in aesthetic perfection and emotional breakthroughs.
"There can be a strange paradox where the attempt to achieve a particular emotional state can actually take us further away from it," says Dr. Jade. "Sometimes we need to stop asking ourselves whether we are having a good time and actually just have the experience."
Reclaiming the Joy of Discovery
Since returning home from my latest retreat, my love life, waistline, and bank balance have all remained resolutely the same. But there has been one obvious change: I have had another truly wonderful trip, with a new set of memories to cherish forever. It would be a monumental disservice to the experience to feel anything other than grateful. To expect a stretch of foreign sand to usher in a whole new reality for every tourist who dips their toes in the sea is asking a lot of a beautiful view.
I am officially giving myself permission to step off the self-improvement treadmill while on holiday. Can’t we all just sit and enjoy the view for a while—cloudy as it may be?
Some of my best travel experiences have been entirely unplanned. The moments that truly stay with me were never written into an itinerary: getting caught in an unexpected downpour in Miami, which turned into an impromptu cinema trip with a stranger, or a freezing jump into a creek when the showers ran dry at a Wyoming campsite. I will not stop traveling, or exploring, or enjoying the thrill of trying something new. But I want to do it for the love of discovery, rather than to reap some intangible, spiritual benefit.
"You don’t need to have a breakthrough while looking at a beautiful sunset," Dr. Jade reminds us. "You can just sit there and think, ‘This is really nice.’"
Epilogue: The Homefront
Back in London, I am again resurrecting my online dating profile. I fill it with my most interesting travel photos—each with a story, all designed to "wow." This is me at my most alive; my "Best Self." I send the draft to ChatGPT for a final opinion.
"You are educated and attractive; you clearly live a full and vibrant life," came the reply. "But a string of photos in glamorous, far-flung locations could read as intimidating to potential matches."
It continued with a piece of advice that felt strangely grounding: "Consider swapping some out for a couple of you at home."
Perhaps that is the lesson. We don’t need to be on a mountain in Bali to be worthy of love, nor do we need to be fire-cleansing our ancestral trauma to be "enough." We are the same people at home as we are on the summit of a mountain. And that, in itself, is enough.
Basiran
Nana
Nana Muazin
