Two years ago, I wrote about stepping away from our carefully constructed middle-class life to embark on what we called our walkabout year. Eric had left his engineering job, I had retired early, and we set off to discover what “more” might look like when we stripped away the safety nets and five-year plans.
I thought I knew what we were searching for. Time, yes. Freedom from the wheel of normalcy, certainly. A return to the simpler values of my commune upbringing mixed with a validation that walking away from conventional success could lead somewhere meaningful.
What I didn’t expect was to discover that we’d been looking in the wrong direction all along.
Where the Walkabout Took Us
These past two years have been everything we hoped for and nothing like we imagined. We’ve stood on polar ice caps in Greenland. We’ve walked ancient pilgrimage routes through Japanese mountains and along Ireland’s windswept coasts. We’ve spent months road-tripping through France, Bulgaria, Montenegro and Albania, learning just as much about ourselves as the people we encountered.
The trails were stunning. The landscapes were breathtaking. Our bodies moved through spaces that were ancient and awe-inspiring, and my joints cooperated more than I dared hope. We found the time we were seeking, the experiences we craved, the sense of purpose in each footstep.
But here’s what really happened: in every place we landed, exhausted and exhilarated, we found ourselves most alive in the moments between the journeys. At breakfast tables in family-run guesthouses. In conversations with innkeepers who knew the mountain paths better than any guidebook. In the stories shared over homemade wine with hosts who treated us not as customers but as temporary family.
The Pattern We Kept Missing
After every trip, when Eric and I would debrief over coffee, trying to capture what made each journey special, we kept circling back to the same memories. Not the scenic views or the historic sites, though those were beautiful. Our favorite stories were always about the people. The B&B host who sat with us for an hour, sharing family recipes and local stories. The innkeepers in Japan who taught us the proper way to appreciate a traditional bath. The Bulgarian couple who invited English-speaking friends to dinner so we could communicate more easily and who shipped photos and pottery across the world to us just in time for Christmas.
We traveled the world searching for something we couldn’t quite name, and slowly realized we’d been seeking connection all along. Not the superficial exchanges of tourist and vendor, but the genuine human warmth that transcends language and culture. That feeling of being welcomed into someone’s home, their world, even if just for a night.
What We're Building Next
Here’s the truth we finally accepted: we don’t want to travel full-time. We love our families too much, our community, the rhythms of home. But we also don’t want to go back to the life we left behind.
So we’re doing something that may come as a surprise to anyone outside our immediate family. We’re opening a small bed and breakfast in my hometown in Louisiana.
This might sound like the end of our walkabout, but it feels more like we’re finally understanding what the walkabout was teaching us. Just as an Aboriginal walkabout prepares young people to return to their community with new wisdom and skills, our travels have shown us exactly what we want to create.
We want to build the kind of place that gave us so much joy on our journeys. A home away from home where the welcome is genuine and the embrace is warm. Where locals and visitors can gather around the same table, sharing stories and learning from one another. A safe haven for travelers who need rest, comfort, and a reminder that the world is full of kind strangers who might become friends.
A place where creativity is celebrated and independent thought is encouraged. Where we can channel my parents’ values of simple living and community connection, but expressed through the lens of our own experience. Where Eric’s culinary skills and my love of bringing people together can create something meaningful.
The Unexpected Destination
When we started this walkabout, I thought we were running away from something or searching for some mystical “more” that existed out there in the world. What we discovered is that what we were seeking was the ability to create spaces of connection and belonging.
The trails will still be there. We’ll still travel, still seek out those beautiful walking paths and new experiences. But now we’ll return to a place where we can offer others what was so freely given to us: a warm bed, a good meal, genuine conversation, and the gift of feeling truly welcome.
Our walkabout year became two years, and now it’s becoming something permanent. Not a rejection of the journey, but an integration of everything it taught us. We’re coming home, but we’re bringing the world back with us.
Eric and I are currently under contract for a beautiful 1929 Neoclassical/Georgian Revival home in Lake Charles. Our plans to operate this B&B are pending the city’s approval, so wish us luck!