Prologue: My Why

It’s autumn 2022. I’m swinging my legs in the break room at work and declare to Piret, “You know what? I’m going on a round-the-world trip.” Silence. “Uhh, okay? Where did that come from?” Piret tries to figure out whether this is just a passing thought or an actual plan.

Honestly though—where do these ideas come from? It’s not the first time I’ve had this kind of feeling—not a vague idea, but a non-negotiable gut feeling that demands action. Break up. Quit the job. Move. Learn something completely new. Sure, you can ignore these nudges… until life slaps you in the back of your head and you find yourself face-down on the floor. I prefer to skip that part. And honestly, there are no solid against-arguments to traveling—no husband, no kids, no car, no property. Not even a loan like a proper Estonian should have. I feel like I’m at a crossroad: either start building up a what is considered a standard grown-up life, or postpone the whole “roots-in-the-ground-housewife” chapter into the unforeseen future. Something in me says that choosing the first options would only make the inner restlessness bigger, not smaller.

So what’s keeping me here, then? Career? Well, physiotherapy’s not going anywhere, and I’ve started from zero many times before in my life. To be honest, my relationship with work has lately been… complicated. I mean, the burnout from last spring has faded, but the taste is still lingering in my mouth. I want out. Out of this version of me. The one people know and expect things from. I could give away the little belonging I own, throw some essentials into a backpack, and just start walking.

Lately I’ve noticed, that the more comfortable and safe life becomes, the harder it gets to actually live it. Discomfort shows up so fast that even walking from your couch to the kitchen feels like a small personal victory. Don’t feel like going to the store? Order food. The whole world is in your phone—yet we’re bored, anxious, and restless. Something’s always missing. To counteract all this modern comfort, I’ve been “self-prescribing” myself to discomfort: cold plunges, running, gym, meditation. And yeah, physical challenges do seem to free the soul a bit. But still… something feels off. I can’t shake off the craving to feel alive. And it seems that to get there, I need to simplify my life and scale back the safety nets. Get my fingers in the dirt, toes in the ocean, inhale lungs full of mountain air. I want to trust that people are actually kind, and the world’s a good place. That life sends signs—clear ones—if you know how to listen.

About four years ago, I started a bucket list. Just for fun. All the random things I want to do or experience in this lifetime—there are around 78 items on it, ranging from raising chickens and becoming a certified personal trainer, to bungee jumping and publishing a book. Every now and then I open the list, read it, and think: what the hell am I waiting for? Like, in which lifetime am I exactly planning to do these things in? This one or the next?

So yeah, my answer to the “why” isn’t short or simple. But no worries—I also have a short version of this rambling in case someone’s not in the mood for a deep existential spiral: I’m sick of the endless darkness and cold—I want sun. So I will be heading towards it. First west, then south. Kind of like birds. Do I know exactly where I’m going? Absolutely not. What if I meet a sweet German couple in a Swiss campground who offer me a ride in their caravan? Or I end up in a Moroccan hostel chatting with a Finnish student whose next destination sounds way cooler than mine? Or get semi-adopted by some hippies in Norway with a camper van and decide to stay and plant tomatoes in their eco-community?

All I know is: on June 2nd, I’ll be stepping aboard a ferry to Helsinki. And hopefully, about a year (or half) later, I’ll circle back to this side of the globe. Depending on how far my budget stretches—unless I blow all my money in Norway or get robbed. In that case, I’ll be back in two months, no problem! Luckily, there’s always a friend’s couch with a spare set of sheets waiting for me in Estonia.

In the end, the only real regrets are the things we don’t do out of fear.
Everything else builds character.

See you on the road,
Kärt