John S.

I booked my first solo trip to Thailand and spent three hours staring at travel insurance pages. You know that feeling. You’re excited.

You’ve probably wondered: How many people actually live in Paris? Not the postcard version. The real one.

I hate picking travel dates. It’s exhausting. You want good weather but not big crowds. You want low prices but still fun things to do.

I used to think freedom meant a passport stamp every six weeks. Turns out, I was exhausted. Broke. And missing my neighbor’s garden parties.

I used to drag two suitcases across three continents. Then I broke my shoulder lifting one onto a bus rack.

I want to travel. You want to travel. But your bank account says no. That’s normal.

I bought travel insurance once thinking it was just for lost luggage. Turns out it covered my emergency surgery in Portugal.

I hate family trips that feel like herding cats. You know the ones. The ones where you spend more time negotiating snacks than actually seeing anything.

I’ve hiked every trail in Livlesstravel that matters (and) a few that don’t. Some were perfect. Some were stupid.

I hate dragging suitcases up three flights of stairs. You do too. Most people pack like they’re moving across the country. Not traveling for ten days.