How a Failed Flight Turned Into a Trip Around the World
When everything went sideways — and it turned out for the best
I was supposed to be heading to a perfectly ordinary blockchain conference. Booked my tickets to Tallinn, prepped my slides, polished my pitch, even washed my startup-logo T-shirt in advance for the first time in ages.
But that morning, nothing went according to plan. First the alarm didn't go off, then the elevator broke, then the taxi got stuck in traffic, and there I was, standing at a closed check-in counter with my suitcase like an idiot. My brain was screaming: that's it, game over — no conference, no investors, no rooftop-coworking coffee.
Step one: coffee instead of a conference
Then something strange happened. I didn't rebook the flight or scramble to write apologies to the organizers. I just sat down in the nearest café and thought: what if... I just don't go back?
And that's how my first trip around the world began — no itinerary, no end date. Just a route toward wherever it was warm, cheap, and the wifi worked.
Wine, khachapuri, and temporary do-nothing-ness
First stop: Georgia. I drank wine, ate khachapuri, and told myself this was just a break. A week or two, then back to the grind. Then came Japan, Singapore, Colombia — and that week or two stretched into nine months.
A suitcase full of the past, and the urge to keep the old rhythm
I kept hauling around the same suitcase, which among other things held a folder with printed slides from my talk. You know, just in case I forgot the idea. I actually tried opening it a couple of times — once in Mumbai, once somewhere in Sydney. But I kept putting it off, because I was busy living.
From freedom back to structure: the habit of scheduling even your downtime
At first I wanted to feel free — no deadlines, no meetings, no endless race. But to my surprise, I found I couldn't relax without a schedule, so I started manufacturing one. In Quito I ran myself through a Spanish sprint. In Lima I gave myself two days to figure out the scooter-rental market. In Goa I was getting up at 6 a.m. to build Notion tables, because obviously the trip needed structuring. Funny thing — I was grinding even at rest.
When work becomes an anchor, even in the tropics
I was carrying my old code around with me. Still living by the same rules, just in different time zones. Wherever I landed, the first thing I'd do was find somewhere to work — a coworking space, a coffee shop, a Zoom call. I told myself I was just working remotely. In reality, I was scared to stop. Scared of actually going still and sitting alone with the question: who am I without the constant hustle?
The turning point in a Chilean village
It came to a head in Chile, in a remote little village, when my laptop got stolen and I lost my whole mission control. I sat by the window, wrapped in a blanket, trying to remember why I'd even left in the first place. Where was the moment the trip stopped being joy and became just a change of location for the same old script?
The finish line inside, and a suitcase as a symbol of change
I opened the suitcase, and there — like in some cheesy movie — was that same startup T-shirt. Washed, neatly folded. Never worn once. An artifact of my former self. Funny, kind of touching, and completely out of place.
That's exactly what I'd been doing all along — hauling around my old self from that old life, with its whole set of beliefs, anxieties, and the relentless need to achieve. And that's when it hit me: it doesn't matter where you are — on a call with investors or in a tent on a beach. If you haven't shifted your coordinates on the inside, you're just dragging your old life's suitcase through new countries.
The trip around the world didn't end in Bali, or Los Angeles, or at the Eiffel Tower. It ended inside me — the first time I let myself just do nothing, plan nothing, not explain the meaning to myself, and simply be.
I never did throw out that folder with my talk. It's still in that suitcase. But now it's a reminder that I know how to be someone else, whenever I choose to.