This as-told-to narrative is drawn from an in-depth conversation with Maria Laposata, aged thirty-two, who founded the travel consultancy Travelries. Her reflections, shared candidly and subsequently refined for concision and precision, capture the profound personal transformation that arose from a radical decision to pause and reset her life.
Life, in its quiet but persistent way, signaled that I desperately needed a pause—a true intermission from the relentless rhythm I had created. My husband and I had taken the step of moving in together just before the pandemic, and our modest one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles quickly transformed from a sanctuary into a dual-purpose workspace. Both of our careers migrated home overnight; each room echoed with competing video calls and overlapping deadlines. We managed the situation as best we could, but gradually, an invisible pressure began to close in, the walls seeming to move closer with every week that passed.
Because travel had always been a shared passion that brought us joy and perspective, I suggested a small exercise in escapism: “Let’s make a list of all the places we’ve dreamed of visiting.” That simple idea was my antidote to claustrophobia. Being somewhat of a data enthusiast, I opened my laptop and converted our daydreams into a spreadsheet—each destination neatly ranked and color-coded according to our mutual enthusiasm. The process was comforting; rows and columns became a quiet refuge where I could breathe, organize, and imagine freedom in a period defined by restriction.
At that time, I worked on the operations team of a fast-growing tech startup in Los Angeles. I thrived on responsibility and challenge, but my schedule had stretched beyond reasonable bounds. My laptop flickered to life at seven each morning and did not close again until close to midnight. Although my affection for the work remained genuine, exhaustion crept in silently until I recognized it as full-fledged burnout. On the hardest days, I would gaze at that spreadsheet—the intricate map of future adventures—and allow my mind a momentary escape to scenes of African safaris or the icy stillness of Antarctica.
This reflection belongs to the broader *Adult Gap Year* series, which illuminates the experiences of individuals who have dared to take extended sabbaticals in pursuit of renewal, exploration, and self-reinvention. For me, one ordinary morning became the catalyst for extraordinary change. As my husband frothed milk for my cappuccino, I blurted out the thought that had been forming quietly in my mind: “What if we both quit our jobs and traveled around the world for three months?” True to his character—steady, unflappable, ever-calm—he simply replied, “OK, sounds good.” That was it. No drama, just quiet agreement, the beginning of something that would reshape our lives.
Once the initial excitement settled into practicality, we began to make plans in earnest. If we were going to take such a significant leap—voluntarily stepping away from our careers—we wanted the journey to feel momentous, not impulsive. After much deliberation, we extended the proposed duration from three months to a full year. We understood that such an adventure demanded preparation: disciplined saving, logistical organization, and mental readiness. Two years of planning later, we both submitted our resignations.
We crafted a comprehensive budget of $75,000 for the year-long voyage, one that encompassed every conceivable expense—from ongoing subscriptions like Netflix to storage costs for our belongings back home. My manager reacted with support and even a touch of envy. Our families, however, were more apprehensive, voicing questions born of love and concern: How would they contact us? Would we be safe traveling through unfamiliar regions? What about potential health risks or unpredictable political situations?
Before departure, I found myself amusingly preoccupied with far-fetched fears: snakes in Africa, tsunamis in Southeast Asia—irrational when one considers that we already lived in earthquake-prone Los Angeles, perched squarely on the Ring of Fire. Beneath these surface anxieties, my truest fear was professional: that a long absence from the workforce would appear as a dark blemish on my résumé. Yet that assumption, as I would later discover, could not have been more misguided.
After vacating our Los Angeles apartment—and gently persuading my mother-in-law to care for our beloved cats—we began. Our year of travel commenced in Rome, where we had enrolled in an Italian language school for two months. That first evening, as we wandered through cobblestone streets infused with music and laughter, Aperol spritzes glimmering on café tables while a languid cat observed us from a balcony, the city seemed to whisper, “You made the right choice.” The next morning, we strolled to class, passing the Colosseum and Pantheon bathed in golden dawn light before tourists filled the streets. It was surreal—a life measured not in meetings but in footsteps and wonder.
Midway through the journey, on the small Indonesian island of Gili Air, came a transformative moment. It was my thirtieth birthday, and the tropical stillness invited introspection. Stripped of the familiar rituals that usually signified the day—no email notifications, no obligatory office cake, no LinkedIn messages—I confronted an unexpected emptiness. I turned to my husband and confessed, “I’ve realized I don’t matter.” He looked at me with calm certainty and replied, “But you mean everything to me.” That simple statement punctured years of misplaced devotion. For all my talk of prioritizing him, my actions had consistently revealed otherwise: work had always come first. In that moment, the scales shifted. I understood, perhaps for the first time, that a meaningful life must be defined not by productivity but by presence and relationships.
During the remainder of our travels, I internalized that lesson. We filled our days with both spontaneity and purpose. As the trip drew toward its second half, we reoriented our focus from pure exploration to preparation for reentry. The final six months were devoted to professional development—blending travel with intention. My husband began designing a mobile application, teaching himself new coding languages between train rides and coffee stops. I reached out to former colleagues, rekindling connections so that, when the time came, rejoining the workforce would feel natural rather than abrupt.
When the airplane finally descended over Los Angeles and the pilot’s voice announced, “Welcome home,” an unexpected wave of emotion rose within me. I realized that, through all of our meticulous fantasies about the journey, we had never once imagined the return. That unanticipated moment felt like closure and beginning all at once. Astonishingly, both of us received job offers on the very last day of our trip. I stepped back into the professional world almost immediately, though not without trepidation. I feared reverting to my old ways—the overextended, work-obsessed version of myself who equated worth with output. But I was determined to live differently. My husband now occupied the top of my priority list, not as an afterthought but as the axis around which my life turned. Even now, when I revisit those memories, gratitude floods me. That year altered the architecture of who I am.
Months later, when I was unexpectedly laid off, I resisted old impulses to scramble toward another job. Instead, I took it as another invitation to reflect. During our travels, an idea had quietly taken root: there were so few accessible resources for adults wanting to plan extended journeys or gap years. Out of that realization, Travelries was born—a company devoted to helping others design their own transformative sabbaticals, whether for rejuvenation, professional clarity, or simple curiosity.
Ironically, the very career break I once feared would tarnish my résumé has become one of my most valuable professional experiences, offering me a unique story and perspective that instantly captures attention in every interview. It is a living proof that pausing one’s career can do more than fill a passport—it can rewrite an entire life narrative, restoring balance, curiosity, and a profound sense of purpose.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/burned-out-late-20s-quit-job-travel-career-break-travelries-2025-12
