Born to Roam: Restlessness, Wonder, and the Magic of Real Life

I’ve never been good at sitting still — not physically, and definitely not mentally.

For me, restlessness isn’t just an occasional feeling; it’s a constant hum. A quiet, persistent pull toward new places, new ideas, and new ways of being.

Long before I ever boarded a plane, I was “traveling” in my imagination — flipping through books about faraway places, building an international Barbie lineup, and asking endless questions about the world. The restlessness had always been there, quietly nudging me.

Eventually, it needed somewhere to go.

When I was 14, I begged my high school to let me go on a student exchange.

They said I was too young.
I said, “Watch me.”

Staying still was never in the cards for me. I’ve been pushing beyond borders for as long as I can remember.

Young and Restless

Summers in Canada

My parents took the family on epic roadtrips every year, like this one to Manitoulin Island.

While other kids were off reading Harry Potter and dreaming of castles and cloaks, I was hoarding world maps and trying to teach myself Italian from a yellowed phrasebook I borrowed from my elementary school library. No shade to Harry Potter fans — fantasy sounds fun, but I’ve always been spellbound by the real world.

My restless curiosity extended to everything I touched. I scribbled purple crayon “annotations” in my favorite childhood book, Around the World with Cricket, excitedly learning how to say “hello” in different languages and soaking up facts about other cultures like a sponge.

My dolls weren’t just toys — they were characters from different countries, each with their own backstory, language, and culture. I’d imagine their cities, foods, families, and worldviews, trying to see life through their eyes. It was my first attempt to understand what it meant to live this life somewhere totally different.

Eventually, I graduated to a gigantic book called something like The Big Book of Questions and Answers. It was the perfect gift from my late aunt Vicky, who always encouraged my curiosity. Folding corners on countless pages — from the geography to science sections — I tried to wrap my head around the fact that my family and I were literally just one tiny fragment of our world’s enormous ecosystem.

Until recently, my parents hadn’t travelled internationally much, besides tropical resort vacations, but they gave me a great foundation for a love of exploration. Every summer, my brother, sister, and I packed into the backseat of our blue Ford Cougar for a road trip, making core memories across Canadian highways and border towns.

Family Vacations

My OG travel buddies were my siblings and parents, who put together the best family vacays.

When I was 14, my parents gifted us a family vacation to a resort in the Dominican Republic — more core memories for us together, but also my first time abroad and my first exposure to the complex poverty and privilege dynamics of international travel.

I realized there’s a big difference between reading about the world and experiencing it, and with that, my desire to experience life beyond my hometown and country grew exponentially.

My restlessness pushed me forward, seeking new levels of connection and learning through experience.

Leap First, Worry Later

At 14, I took my first real step toward the independence and adventure I craved by applying for a student exchange through my high school. My guidance counselor, seeing me as too young, tried to steer me away — which only fueled the fire of teenage defiance within me.

Restlessness made me persistent, and maybe a little intense. So my parents weren’t surprised when I jumped through every hoop, met every deadline, and talked my way through every argument. I picked up a part-time job as a hostess at a local diner to help pay for the flight — dodging cranky bosses, getting stiffed on tips, and memorizing a one-hour country music loop on repeat.

There was no way I was missing my chance — even if it meant earning it one sticky table and twangy chorus at a time.

A year later — plus hundreds saved through my $6-an-hour hustle — the adventure came to us.

My family hosted Valentina, an exchange student from Northern Italy, for three months. In a small Canadian city not used to much international flair, her presence at our high school felt exciting — like something out of a movie. She spoke four languages, had this melodic Italian-German accent, and found joy in the things we barely noticed — like the yellow school bus, which she found iconic.

We swapped language lessons — her English, my Italian — and some words just hit us sideways. (Her reaction to the word “snail” had us in hysterics for days.) She carved her first pumpkin (Bob), giggled through Halloween, and stood outside grinning the morning she saw her first Canadian snowfall.

It was one of my first real brushes with intercultural connection — the joy of discovering someone from a different culture, tangled up with the discomfort of seeing myself differently in the process.

I had spent years dreaming of foreign places. And yet, to Valentina, my small-town Canadian life — school buses, pumpkin carving, snow — was the fantasy.

Seeing my world through her eyes made even the most ordinary things feel... extraordinary.

Student Exchange

Valentina & I exchanged in Canada & Italy in 2006 and met up again in Cinque Terre in 2018!

La Dolce Vita, Perhaps

At 16, it was my turn to cross the ocean and live with Valentina and her family in Bolzano. I was exhilarated — and almost alarmed by how not scared I was. This was it: my chance to live the life I’d imagined since those early days with a phrasebook and a purple crayon.

And what a world it was.

There were Nutella croissants after school, homemade pizza on Friday nights, and visits from Valentina’s Austrian oma on Sundays. Weekend trips to Verona and Venice. A traditional Italian Easter in Naples.

It was everything I had dreamed of… with some bonus challenges blended in. My primary school phrasebook didn’t stand a chance against rapid-fire Italian dinner conversations, and I was constantly trying to catch up — or at least catch the gist of what was going on. My host father was more traditional and conservative than I was used to, and I had to learn quickly how to navigate unfamiliar expectations and household dynamics. There were things I said (or didn’t say) that I wouldn’t realize were cultural no-nos until it was much too late.

It was new, confusing, and eye-opening.

I grew up quickly that spring.
And my restlessness kept growing, too.

Because the more I know… the more I want to know.

Wait, What? Pains of Paying Attention

In my late teens, I started paying closer attention to the world — not just the one around me, but the one far beyond my town’s borders. Headlines started to stick. Indigenous rights in Canada. The genocide in Darfur. Omar Khadr — a Canadian-born child soldier imprisoned in Guantanamo Bay. The assassination of Benazir Bhutto, the first female Prime Minister of Pakistan.

Watching the news made the world feel bigger and more brutal — but also more urgent to understand.
Not because I thought I could fix it all (though for many years, I would burn myself out trying),
but because I wanted to find a more honest way to be in it.

Political Antenna

In high school, I participated in a week-long program on Parliament Hill with other teens from across Canada. I learned so much that week, and definitely thought I was headed for a political career!

A year after my exchange in Italy, I joined a school trip to Jamaica, where we built classrooms and painted orphanages as part of a longer-term service program that also involved volunteering in our local community. I loved the experience — the new perspectives, the weekends spent doing something good, the sense of purpose. But even then, I started to wonder: Were we actually helping? Or were we just making ourselves feel good?

These questions followed me into university, where I began a degree in International Development and Globalization. For the first time, I could dig into the patterns and systems behind the headlines I’d been following — and the lived experiences I’d already brushed up against. I started learning a new language for what I’d been sensing all along.

Hard Truths Over Mint Teas

At 20, fresh off a breakup and chasing meaning, I went to Nepal on a yoga-and-volunteer program. One afternoon, I asked the program manager why foreigners were building a school when locals clearly had better skills to build it themselves. She waited until we were alone to answer: “We don’t need your labor. We need your fees.”

Volunteering in Nepal

When I was 22, I joined a group volunteering and traveling in rural Nepal, where I learned about poverty, sustainability & voluntourism.

It was the answer I already knew — but hearing it out loud still landed differently.

Soon after, I spent two semesters in Tunisia — one studying Arabic, right after the Arab Spring revolution, and a year later interning with an NGO that focused on migrant issues. The work was hard and eye-opening, but so was the connection. I reunited with friends I’d made the year before, was welcomed into a warm host family, and quickly fell into a rhythm of daily life.

Study Abroad

I got to study & intern in Tunisia as part of my university degree.

Amid challenging conversations and long workdays, there was spontaneous generosity, endless cups of mint tea, card games with aunties who definitely cheated, and laughter that made the weight of it all feel a little lighter.

It showed me that, even in a complicated world — and even when we can't fully understand each other or our surroundings — kindness and connection are the most comforting things we can offer. They create deeper, more meaningful memories than anything else we encounter.

The Adventure Continues

Since those early days of annotated map books and Barbie UN assemblies, I’ve somehow found myself exploring 35 countries, working for the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, van-lifed across the U.S., lived in Malaysia and Bali, worked at UN conferences, solo-traveled through places like Borneo, Egypt, and Kenya, and studied the Indonesian language (ongoing!) — always chasing that same flicker of curiosity, always letting restlessness be my guide.

These days, I run Travelynne full-time — a travel blog and boutique consultancy built for people and brands who believe, like I do, that travel can be meaningful, magical, and transformative when done with care. I help travelers plan deeper, more connected adventures, and I support travel companies in telling their stories with heart.

Moving to Asia

In 2019, my former partner dropped me off at the airport in the campervan we rode together around 19 U.S. states. I thought I’d be gone a year. It’s been six.

The blog is my home base — a mix of logistical deep-dives (my specialty!), practical tips, and little moments that cracked something open in me. It’s still powered by the same wide-eyed wonder that once had me scribbling in purple crayon and dreaming about the world beyond my hometown.

It amazes me how what once felt like fantasy became my real life, and how much more complicated yet beautiful my vagabond choices have made everything. It’s very on brand for me to make things just a little more difficult in pursuit of adventure. But that’s what works for me, because it’s who I am.

I wasn’t made to sit still — I was born to roam, to feel, to connect, to keep chasing and sharing the magic of the real world.

It’s my absolute pleasure to share what I learn so others can travel not just with more ease, but with more connection, more meaning, and a lighter footprint.

So if you ever want a hand planning your next adventure, you know where to find me.

—> Learn more about Lynne here.

Want to collaborate? Contact me or explore more on my blog.

This article was originally published as “The Making of a Traveler” on 6 August, 2022, and updated significantly in May 2025.