I tried to make my life a bit easier this week: I booked a cleaner. Not because I hate cleaning, but just because I was busy and wanted to save some time. I blocked my calendar, worked from home and moved a few things around so this would all go smoothly. In a busy month, it felt like one of those small life upgrades that should create a bit of breathing room.

Instead, it turned into three days of friction. The first cleaner cancelled late the night before. Life happens, I get that. The second one showed up late, left early, billed a bit generously, and did a job that was… fine. Not terrible, not great. Just enough that when I walked in, my first thought wasn’t relief. It was, “I could’ve done this myself in a few hours.” And, since I’m picky, there were a few things I noticed I would’ve done better.

Somewhere during those three days, this stopped being about cleaning.

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The Subtle Cost of Convenience

The gig economy sells you on convenience, and to be fair, it delivers. You can get almost anything at the tap of a button now. A ride shows up in minutes. Food arrives at your door. Someone can come clean your home while you’re on a Zoom call. On paper, or better yet, my phone screen, the concept is brilliant. We’ve turned our smart phones into a remote control for daily life: with the right app, anything imaginable shows up at the touch of a button.

But the convenience removes something else: ownership. The person showing up isn’t building something that’s theirs. They’re completing a task that lives inside someone else’s platform. And you can feel that difference, even if you can’t always explain it right away.1

It shows up in small ways: A bit less attention to detail, a bit less pride in the outcome, a bit more “close enough.” Just enough to not get a bad review, and then they ask for a tip.2

When It’s Actually Your Business

I’ve worked with cleaners and other contractors before, but those were always small, local businesses. Same service on the surface, completely different experience in reality.

When someone owns the business, even if it’s just them, the energy is different. They care about how the place looks when they leave. They care about whether you call them again. What you say about them to others matters more than the review you leave on some faceless online platform.3

With a business owner, you can build a relationship there, even if it’s informal. With a platform, that connection is thinner. You’re matched, the job gets done, and both sides move on. If it doesn’t work out, no big deal. There’s always another cleaner, another customer, another ride, another pizza to deliver.

The Middleman Takes the Margin

That flexibility is the selling point, but it’s also a big problem for anyone participating in the gig economy (sellers and buyers). The issue is the laughing third party that’s quietly part of every transaction. The platform benefits the most, without doing any work. The platform isn’t the one cleaning your home, cooking your food, or driving your car. But they are taking a cut from it all, and often not a small one.

So you end up in this slightly awkward setup where the person doing the work is not fully invested, the customer is not fully satisfied, and the platform quietly collects in the background. It’s a lose-lose no matter what you do, except if you own the platform.

You See It Everywhere

Walk down the street and you’ll see delivery drivers everywhere, rushing from one order to the next. In Vancouver, electric bicycles and scooters fly by on the sidewalk. Restaurants, already operating on tight margins, hand over a percentage of every order just to be visible on those third-party delivery apps.

More and more places now nudge you to order directly, offering small discounts or incentives if you bypass the platform entirely. That tells you everything you need to know.

Uber is another obvious example. It works, most of the time, but it rarely feels like a private driver service in the traditional sense. Occasionally you get a great driver, someone who clearly takes pride in what they do. More often, it’s just a ride. A functional and hopefully somewhat predictable way to get from A to B. That leaves a lot to be desired from Uber’s original tagline ‘everyone’s private driver’.

What Happened to Pride in the Work?

Did we, collectively, decide somewhere along the way that “good enough” was enough? This is the struggle I keep coming back to with gig economy. My cleaning dilemma was never really about being late or missing a room or billing an extra twenty minutes.

There’s a quiet gap between completing the job and doing it well. Between finishing a task and taking pride in the outcome. The platforms own the relationship and take their cut no matter what, and when nothing is truly yours, it’s harder to care that much.

Build Your Own, or Choose Someone Who Did

If you’re the one doing the work, there’s something powerful about owning it. Even as a sole proprietor you can set your own standards, build your own client base, and create something that reflects how you want to show up.

And if you’re the customer, there’s value in seeking out people that take ownership for the work they do. Working directly with someone who actually cares for what they do. Sometimes you may pay a bit more, maybe, but in return you’re getting something that feels more human. And you support local.

After my experiment this week, I’m leaning back in that direction. Not because the gig economy doesn’t work. It’s because what I keep coming back to, is that “working” and “being good” are not the same thing.

Get Into Action

If this resonates, it might be worth taking a closer look at where convenience is quietly lowering your standards without you realizing it. My various business courses are created for entrepreneurs and business owners looking to own their platform, instead of participating in someone else’s. You can discover how to optimize your online presence, implement growth hacking techniques, and leverage social media for business success. Free previews available via the link below.

Business Courses - Free Preview

Further reading

Earth Day is coming up, and every year it tends to bring the same conversation back into focus: Be more mindful, consume less, take better care of the planet. Instead, this year, I challenge you to do something good for yourself. Because if we take care of ourselves, maybe the planet would also be a little happier.

The more I travel, the more I notice that how I move through the world has very little to do with the destination and everything to do with how present I am while I’m there. No matter which exotic destination you pick next, it’s just another place to go. Nothing wrong with that, but if you’re not in it, then it doesn’t matter so much where on the planet you are. The same type of trip can feel different, depending on what’s going on in my head.

When the Same Trip Feels Completely Different

I’ve had trips that looked incredible on paper but felt strangely flat while I was there, and I’ve had simple, almost unplanned days that ended up being some of the most memorable experiences I’ve had.

The difference wasn’t the itinerary or the hotel. It was whether I was actually there or just running some kind of mental background process the whole time, and couldn’t fully disconnect. I was thinking about what’s next, comparing it to something else. Trying to “get the most out of it” instead of just letting it be what it is.

That’s something I’ve become a lot more aware of over time, especially after reading A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. One idea stuck with me in a way that feels very relevant to travel:

The ego doesn’t stay at home when you leave for a trip.

You may leave everything familiar behind, but you take yourself with you no matter where you go, quietly shaping how you experience everything.

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The Subtle Ways We Miss the Moment

The problem with “mindfulness” is that it doesn’t work that way. The point this Earth Day is to empty the clutter, and focus on what matters. You could call it “mindlessness” instead. It’s a subtle shift from full, to less.

Instead, our minds are full and always engaged. It’s that low-level feeling that you should be doing something more, seeing something else, making better use of your time. You may notice it from the urge to capture something instead of experience it. Don’t look with your camera phone, look with your eyes, and experience where you are.

The Difference Between Outer and Inner Purpose

None of this is a travel problem, but an awareness problem for a busy mind. It doesn’t get solved by booking a better trip, or building a better life. It may help to notice the distinction between your outer purpose and inner purpose.

Outer purpose is everything we usually focus on when we plan a trip. The destination, the logistics, the upgrades, the experiences. It’s the part I’ve spent years optimizing, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I still love finding a great hotel or figuring out how to make a trip smoother and more enjoyable.

Inner purpose is how present you are while all of that external “stuff” is happening around you. This is similar to what I wrote in The Freedom Project: Happiness. For a long time, travel felt like an escape. A way to step out of a life that didn’t fully feel like mine.

The problem with that approach is that you always have to come home to the life you left behind in the first place. When you do, everything you were trying to get away from is still there, waiting for you to bring yourself back to that context.

At some point, I realized that if I didn’t change how I experienced my everyday life, I would just keep chasing the next trip to feel okay again. That’s not freedom, but just a more expensive version of avoidance.

Acceptance, Enjoyment, or Let It Go

If you can’t enjoy what you’re doing, or at least accept it, stop doing it.

How many times have I stuck with something on a trip because it was “on the list,” even though it didn’t feel right? Or stayed in an environment that looked great online but didn’t match how I actually wanted to feel while I was there?

This is not just about travel. It shows up in everyday life too. I’ve written about toxic workplaces more than once. The difference is that travel tends to highlight it more because the contrast to everyday life is so obvious. You’re somewhere new, surrounded by all the ingredients for a great experience, and yet something still feels slightly off.

Some of my best travel days have come from letting go of the plan a little. Walking without a destination, sitting somewhere longer than expected, not trying to optimize every hour of the day.

What This Has to Do with Earth Day

So where does Earth Day fit into all of this? For me, it comes down to awareness.

When you’re present, you naturally consume differently. You’re not constantly looking for the next thing to fill a gap. You don’t need as much stimulation, and you’re less driven by that restless feeling that something better might be just around the corner. It’s about mindlessness, and starting to appreciate what’s already there.

Mindlessness changes how you travel, how you spend, and how you move through the world in general. It’s a quieter shift, but it’s a meaningful one. Not because you’re forcing yourself to do better, but because you’re actually experiencing what’s in front of you.

The moment you’re in is already complete in a way we tend to overlook. Whether you’re halfway across the world or at home, there’s a version of that moment that doesn’t need to be improved or optimized. That’s where travel stops being an escape and starts becoming something that actually adds to your life in a sustainable way.

Get Into Action

If you’re starting to see travel differently and you want to go deeper into that idea of building a life you don’t feel the need to escape from, that’s exactly what I focus on in my Break Free Experience course. It’s about designing a lifestyle where travel fits naturally instead of feeling like a temporary reset. You can check it out here when you’re ready:

Break Free Xperience

Further reading

In many popular destinations, the default option has become an all-inclusive resort. In Europe, people flock to Spain. In North America, we equally venture south: to Mexico. As I wrote in my travel book, the opposites always seem better: Mexico sounds fancy for European travellers, while Spain may be the more exciting destination for North American. Both destinations are just another place to go.

No matter where you end up, all inclusives follow a similar recipe: big buildings, (maybe) private beaches, (definitely) buffet restaurants, and (always) wristbands that (with any luck) let you order drinks all day without ever reaching for your wallet. Except when they ask for a tip on every order.

For many tourists, that setup is perfect. You land, get on a shuttle, and disappear into a resort bubble for a week of sunshine and relaxation. It almost doesn’t matter where in the world you are. I’m not here to judge: there’s nothing inherently wrong with an all inclusive vacation. A trip to a comfy bubble can be a great vacation.

It’s just very much not how I like to travel. Being trapped in a luxury prison, away from civilization, needing an “excursion” to experience local culture? No thanks.

The strange architecture of resort bubbles

During my recent trip to Tulum, I noticed something that perfectly captured the difference between two very different styles of travel.1

Driving along the coast from Cancun to Tulum, I passed many mega resorts. They all had one thing in common: massive gates guarding the entrance, and high fences lining the property. Some even had electrified barbed wire running along the perimeter. It must be nice once you get in and get your wristband, but from the outside, these “resorts” look more like a prison complex than a beach getaway.

It makes you wonder if the resorts are designed to keep people out, or keep them in. Everything is designed to face inward. Pools, restaurants, entertainment, activities. The entire experience is built so guests never really have to leave.

Which, of course, is the point of staying at an all-inclusive. If you never leave the property, you’re eating every meal there, drinking every drink there, and booking every activity through the resort. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. But it creates a strange reality where you could be almost anywhere in the world and not notice much difference.

Pizza, pasta, and the illusion of travel

One of the things that intrigues me about these large resorts is the food. You fly halfway across the world to Mexico, and the buffet proudly features… pizza and pasta.

Some resorts have ten “different” restaurants on the property, with menus designed to be as internationally neutral as possible. Nothing too adventurous, or unfamiliar.

The result is a vacation that’s comfortable, predictable, and safe. It’s also strangely disconnected from the place you actually traveled to. Again, you could be anywhere in the world and not notice much of a difference other than the stamp in your passport.

Why I chose a small luxury hotel instead

For my Mexico trip I intentionally selected the opposite of an all-inclusive experience. I picked a small luxury hotel in Tulum, featured on FoundersCard. I prefer a curated selection over the thousand+ options on travel sites like Expedia.2 The hotel was quiet, beautifully designed, and even provided bicycles to encourage guests to explore the surrounding. The daily happy hour with free food and cocktails by the pool got me close enough to an all-inclusive experience.

Within a short ride I could reach cenotes, beaches, local restaurants, ruins, and the national park. Instead of spending the week moving between the pool, buffet, and bar, the whole area became part of the experience. That’s the kind of travel I enjoy.

Staying somewhere smaller creates freedom. You’re not locked into a schedule of buffet hours. You’re not trying to “maximize the value” of an all-inclusive package by making sure every meal happens on the property. If you feel like riding into town for tacos, you go. If you want to explore a quiet beach or grab a drink somewhere unexpected, you can.

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Travel vs vacation

There’s a subtle difference between travel and vacation. An all-inclusive resort delivers a vacation, with comfort, convenience, and predictability. For many people that’s exactly what they’re looking for, especially if you just want to unplug for a week and don’t really care where in the world you are (as long as the sun is shining).

But travel is about something different. It’s about freely experiencing a destination instead of observing it from behind the walls of a property designed to keep you contained. Those little moments are what make a trip memorable.

I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad. ~ George Bernard Shaw

Whether you prefer travel or vacation, is personal. What feels like a dream vacation to one person might feel limiting to someone else.3

For me, the joy of travel comes from stepping outside the bubble. I want to see the streets. Taste the local food. Talk to the people who live there. Explore the beaches and ruins and parks that exist beyond the resort gate.

Sometimes that means trading the convenience of a buffet for a bit of curiosity and adventure. And in my experience, that trade is almost always worth it (either way, bring at least Tums, Gravol and Advil, just in case).

Get Into Action

If you’ve ever felt like travel could be something more than simply booking a resort and following the crowd, that’s exactly what I explore in The Freedom Project: Travel. The book is about unlocking more meaningful travel experiences, learning how to explore destinations with intention, and designing trips that feel less like a packaged vacation and more like a real adventure.

If you’re ready to go beyond the book and see how I book free airfare and luxury hotels at a fraction of the cost, get yourself a free preview to my Travel Revolution online course today. I’d love to have you on board.

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Further reading

A news headline caught my attention recently:

A U.S. airline will now remove passengers who refuse to wear headphones when listening to audio on their devices.

Good idea, in my humble opinion. But let’s dive a little further. The story, on my Canadian Apple News, was quietly framed as an example of American airlines cracking down on “Canadian travellers.” I’m not sure if this is considered clickbait, political misinformation, or something in between. Either way, the headline was less about headphones and more about the way two great countries are pitched against each other in an ongoing trade war. Give me a break. Wearing headphones has little to do with cross-border tension, nationality, politics, or travel friction between countries.1

The “U.S. airline” vs “Canadian travellers” framing felt unnecessary and frankly a little manipulative. This isn’t an American rule targeting Canadians. It’s not a geopolitical issue. It’s not some new front in the never-ending media cycle of cross-border outrage. The way this story was framed says more about the current media environment than it does about the policy.

The real story is about something much simpler: basic etiquette. if you are sharing a confined public space with hundreds of other people, please use headphones. That’s it. If you’ve spent any time in public lately, you’ve probably noticed that basic etiquette around audio seems to be disappearing. So let’s talk about that.

The strange new social experiment

There’s a strange new phenomenon that seems to have quietly become normal: people walking around holding their phones in front of their faces on FaceTime speakerphone. Seriously, who invented this? Scrolling social media feeds with the audio blasting is a private experience, nobody else cares. People watching videos on full volume in cafés, waiting rooms, transit, or airplanes - did you forget your headphones, or you just don’t care about anyone else?

The sound is always the same: that unmistakable tin-can audio coming from a phone speaker somewhere in the vicinity. Once you notice it, you start hearing it everywhere.

This is not about perfect silence in public. Cities, travel, and life can be noisy, messy experiences. That’s kind of the point. But do we really need to add to that? There’s a difference between ambient noise and someone broadcasting their personal media to everyone around them. Again, nobody cares.

The airplane example

Airplanes are actually a great example of why this matters. Space is confined, and for several hours you get to spend quality time with a couple hundred complete strangers in an air-compressed tube. Everyone is sharing the same small space, which (especially in row 37 by the bathroom) is already a bit uncomfortable. The least we can do is try to make that experience tolerable for one another.

Most airlines have always had a rule that you must follow crew instructions. In theory that could already include being told to mute your phone or use headphones. Since common sense isn’t that common, United Airlines simply decided to make the expectation explicit.

If you want to listen to something on your phone or tablet, use headphones. If you refuse after being asked, you could be removed from the plane. Sounds like a good idea. I’m not even a big United fan2, but on this one I think they got it right.

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The yoga studio moment

The story popped up on my newsfeed right after I experienced a smaller version of the same problem, when I arrived early at a yoga studio. The room is clearly marked as a no-phone zone, which is meant to give people a quiet space to decompress before class starts.

Someone didn’t get the message and walked in while playing audio on her phone. The instructor hadn’t arrived yet, and nobody said anything. I couldn’t help wondering that if the rule says “no phones,” maybe she should’ve been kicked out as well? Where is United cabin crew when you need them most?

The thing that makes this whole debate even more absurd is how easy the solution is: headphones can be tiny, and easily fit into your pocket. Using earbuds isn’t some oppressive rule, but a small gesture of consideration for the people around you. And if you needed one more reason: Smart phones do not come with good enough speakers designed for public listening anyway.

Maybe more places should adopt the rule

The United policy might sound strict, but in practice it’s just putting into writing something that most people already understand: don’t play audio in shared spaces, like airplanes, trains, cafés, and yoga studios.

The rule itself isn’t particularly newsworthy. What is worth noting is that airlines feel they need to formalize something that used to be basic social etiquette. Hopefully most of us can figure that out without needing a contract of carriage to enforce it. For the rest of us, you’ve been warned.

Get Into Action

Travel is full of little details that make the experience better or worse. Etiquette, preparation, and understanding how systems work can transform a frustrating trip into something memorable. I share many of those insights in my book The Freedom Project: Travel, where I break down the mindset and practical strategies that help people travel better and more intentionally. If you’re curious about making travel a richer part of your life, it’s a good place to start.

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Further reading

The cover image for this story was taken in the airport lounge before my flight from Santiago, Chile to Lima, Peru. LATAM did it right: a truly quiet, premium space with a great food and beverage selection. But it’s not always like that. Sometimes the “lounge” feels more like mix between a crowded coffee shop and a daycare facility, than the premium experience it used to resemble. With so many credit cards now offering access, you wonder if it’s quieter outside the lounge than in. What used to feel like a quiet pre-flight escape now has lineups, crowds, and a mediocre buffet of lukewarm soggy food. Was it a mistake to even deal with the lineup to get in?

But there’s good news: some changes are coming. American Express, amongst other providers, is tightening lounge access. A lot of headlines focus on the impact for US cardholders, but the effects are very real for Canadians too.

Right now, the Canadian Platinum Card still gives access to Priority Pass lounges, Plaza Premium lounges (a big one in Canada) and Centurion Lounges where available. In the US, guest lounge access is tied to annual spend on the card, a model they’re now starting to introduce in Canada.

Starting in 2027, you’ll see more subtle restrictions, with limits on your lounge visits limits and guest policies, and a gradual shift toward rewarding higher spend.1

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When the lounge becomes worse than the terminal

I’ve had a few moments recently where I walked into a lounge and thought, this is actually worse than outside.

The Plaza Premium lounge in Vancouver US departures used to be a decent option. Lately, it’s been hit or miss at best. Packed seating, food lines, and people on speakerphones. The noise levels and cramped feeling completely defeat the purpose of being there.

And then there was the Air Transat lounge in Cancun. I’m not exaggerating when I say it might have been one of the worst (and shortest) “lounge” experiences I’ve had. Overcrowded, chaotic, and somehow more stressful than just sitting at the gate. With several families with screaming kids, it felt like a daycare facility that served alcohol.2

At that point, what are we even paying for?3

“When everything is premium, nothing is.”

The real issue isn’t access. It’s behaviour.

Some people think of “travel hacking” as pure optimization with no regard for sustainability. People sign up for cards, grab the welcome bonus, and then barely use the card. Rinse and repeat.

This is credit card churning. Technically clever, but short-sighted.4

That kind of “travel hacking” overloads the system, devalues the experience, and forces companies to tighten rules for everyone. It’s like abusing the Costco return policy. It’s flexible, but even the Costco return policy will turn against you if you abuse it. Eventually every system corrects itself to prevent abuse.

So by tightening the lounge access benefit, Amex is trying to restore balance. Premium providers are happy to provide premium experiences, but only if there’s a real relationship behind it. As a card provider, they’re not so much interested in building a relationship with cardholders, but with cardholders using their product.

A more sustainable approach to travel hacking

So at first glance, you may think “less benefits for the same annual fee”. But if fewer people get unlimited, frictionless lounge access, the experience inside improves for those who are there.

Maybe it’ll be a step closer to what lounges originally were meant to be: more space, less noise, and better service. If you’ve ever sat in a packed lounge wondering why you even bothered, you may appreciate this system resetting itself.

This ties directly into the travel hacking system I’ve been teaching for years:

That means using your cards strategically, following a system that’s designed to build real relationships with programs, and leveraging perks without abusing them. Yes, my approach to travel hacking is slower, but more intentional. And most importantly, it’s sustainable if you stick with it.

The irony is that this “long game” approach often leads to better travel experiences anyway. The play isn’t to panic or churn harder, it’s to adapt early, before these changes come into effect next year.

Get Into Action

If you want to build a travel strategy that actually holds up over time, not just for the next welcome bonus cycle, I walk through this in detail inside my Travel Revolution course. You can preview it for free and see if it fits your style of travel.

Preview the Travel Revolution

In the full Travel Revolution course I teach a sustainable travel hacking system that works for everyone, without taking advantage.

And for my VIP subscribers, I’ll include a private link to access an Amex referral bonus that isn’t publicly available below. If you’re going to play the game properly, not just chase points for the sake of it, this may be worth it for you.

Elevated Amex Invitation

New Platinum^® Cardmembers can earn 110,000 140,000 Bonus points, which is enough for up to $1,400 of travel credits. This invitation link is not available to the public. Unlock my private invite below, or find it in my own VIP Lounge. 😊

Read more

Earlier this month I wrote about travel advisories and how they deserve a bit more interpretation than people realize.1 Advisories are important, and I’m not suggesting they should be ignored. But they’re also not the full story.

I wrote that post at the tail end of my recent Mexico trip. In the weeks since then, I’ve been watching something unfold in the news that I found a bit one-sided.

If you follow the same headlines, you might have noticed stories on Canadian travellers who are suddenly reconsidering their spring break travel plans because of “ongoing tensions” in places like Mexico and Cuba. The coverage makes it sound like something is actively unfolding right now.

But the reality is a bit different. The incident that triggered most of the Mexico coverage happened nearly four weeks ago in several Mexican states, including the popular tourist destination Puerto Vallarta2. Within about a week, flights resumed and reports suggested things were getting back to normal there. Yet weeks later, the headlines keep repeating the same narrative as if it’s still unfolding in real time, today.

That disconnect between headlines and reality caught my attention even more because I was actually in Mexico this month.

The trip I almost second-guessed

My own trip was scheduled to depart only days after the Puerto Vallarta incident. The timing wasn’t great. And to be honest, what I saw in the news made me pause. I’m not immune to those headlines. When you see the same story repeated over and over again it’s easy to start wondering if you’re being reckless by going ahead with your plans.

My trip wasn’t even to Puerto Vallarta. I was headed to Tulum on the Caribbean side of the country. For context, Puerto Vallarta is in the state of Jalisco on Mexico’s Pacific coast. Tulum sits on the opposite side of the country near Cancun. The distance between the two is roughly 2,500 kilometers. If you were to drive it, you’d be looking at around thirty hours on the road.

At one point Cancun briefly appeared on the Canadian travel advisory website in relation to the situation. I spent some time trying to understand why, because I couldn’t find any reports of related incidents in that area.

As always, I was doing my homework before departure.

Choosing to travel differently

Part of what made me pause was the style of trip I had intentionally chosen. Instead of booking an all-inclusive resort, I had selected a small luxury hotel in Tulum, which was featured on FoundersCard.3 I wanted to explore the area properly. The hotel even provided bicycles so guests could ride around to nearby ruins, cenotes, beaches, and the national park.

It was exactly the kind of travel experience I enjoy. But it also meant I wasn’t going to spend the week inside the alleged safety of a resort bubble.

The question naturally crossed my mind: had I made the wrong call? I considered cancelling, or changing to a different type of vacation than what I had planned. Maybe it would be better to be “stuck” on a resort after all?4

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What I actually experienced

Once I arrived, the picture looked very different from the stories shared in the media before (and during) my trip.

Yes, there was a visible presence of Mexico’s National Guard. Trucks with guards in military uniforms patrolled the town frequently. Some had mounted machine guns on the roof and a full crew standing in the back of the truck. At first glance, it’s a little intimidating.

But, as always, the context matters. These patrols were clearly there to maintain safety in a region that depends heavily on tourism. They drove along the beach roads, sometimes stopping near busy areas where visitors were walking between restaurants and beach clubs.

And they were surprisingly friendly. At one point a truck passed while I was walking along the beach road. I nodded and said, “Thanks guys.” They smiled and waved.

The message from the locals

The message from local people working in restaurants, hotels, and small shops was equally friendly. They want tourists to come and visitors to feel safe. They want people to understand that the headlines often don’t reflect what daily life actually looks like.

Tourism is a huge part of the local economy in places like Tulum. The people there have every incentive to keep things welcoming and safe. During my entire stay, I never felt unsafe.

We rode bicycles around town. We explored beaches and cenotes. We ate at local restaurants instead of resort buffets serving pizza and pasta for international tourists.

My trip felt like normal travel.

The reality about safety while traveling

My story doesn’t mean you should ignore safety altogether. Quite the contrary. You should absolutely pay attention to your surroundings, especially when you’re outside the resort areas. Stumbling home drunk after a late night party is rarely a good idea anywhere in the world. It doesn’t matter whether you’re in Vancouver, Amsterdam, New York, or a Mexican beach town.

Travel always involves a bit of situational awareness. That’s part of being a responsible traveler. But there is a big difference between sensible caution and the kind of fear-driven narrative that has been dominating the news lately.

News cycles are built around conflict and dramatic events. A single incident can generate weeks of good stories because it captures attention. The far more common story of millions of people traveling safely every year without incident, isn’t media-worthy. There’s no conflict there, and as such, no story to sell. The quiet normality doesn’t make the news.

Reading recent articles about Canadians changing their spring break plans because of “ongoing tensions” felt strange after having just returned from Mexico myself. The place I experienced on the ground looked nothing like the picture being painted in those headlines.

Make your own assessment

None of this is meant to dismiss travel advisories or suggest that risks don’t exist. Every destination carries some level of risk, and everyone has their own comfort level when it comes to travel decisions.

The key is to look beyond the headlines and make your own assessment based on multiple sources. Understand the geography. Know where you’re going and what you’re getting yourself into. Look at what is actually happening in the specific region you plan to visit.

And if you do decide to go, travel with awareness and respect for the place you’re visiting. That approach will take you much further than reacting to the latest news headline.

Get Into Action

Travel has a way of expanding your perspective in ways headlines never can. If you’ve ever wanted to travel more intentionally, explore beyond the resort bubble, and learn how to unlock better travel experiences along the way, that’s exactly what I share in my book The Freedom Project: Travel. It’s a practical guide to making travel more accessible, more meaningful, and far more rewarding than simply following the crowd.

If you’re ready for more and want to go beyond the book, check out my travel hacking program the Travel Revolution. Previews are always free.

Preview the course

Further reading

Every spring and fall we go through the same ritual. Phones update automagically overnight, the microwave shows the wrong time, and everyone spends a day feeling slightly off. The good news? This year might have been the last time.

Last weekend, British Columbia moved its clocks forward with the intention of never changing them back again. It’s summertime forever, despite the rain. If the new policy holds, the province will stay on daylight saving time permanently.

Time zones shape how the world moves. Flights, business schedules, cross-border meetings, and even how jet lag feels are all (side) effects of these invisible lines. And BC just decided to redraw one of those lines.

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A decision that was years in the making

The idea of ending clock changes in BC isn’t new; we’ve talked about it for years. The legislation enabling the change was already passed back in 2019, but the plan to move to permanent daylight saving time was never put in effect.

The question was “who goes first”. Cities like Vancouver are tightly connected to places like Seattle, San Francisco and Los Angeles through trade, tourism, and daily flights connecting us all. The province wanted to make the permanent time change together with the U.S. west coast.

So we waited, for each other. If Washington, Oregon, and California all switched to permanent daylight saving time as well, the entire Pacific region would stay synchronized. U.S. states can support the idea, but changing daylight saving time ultimately requires federal approval in Washington, and that process stalled.

So BC finally decided to pull the plug and move forward anyway.

The strange travel side effect

If BC stays on permanent daylight saving time while the U.S. continues switching clocks, Vancouver will be one hour ahead of the U.S. west coast for about four months every winter. Noon in Vancouver would be 11am in Seattle and LA. That’s odd. When you cross the US-Canada geographic border, it’ll be like stepping into a temporary time zone where the clocks drift apart seasonally.

Airlines schedule flights months in advance, and they prefer entire regions to operate on synchronized clocks, following fixed time zones. When one jurisdiction shifts independently, it adds complexity. Imagine a typical winter flight between Vancouver and Seattle: you might depart Vancouver at 9:00 in the morning and arrive in Seattle before 8:50. Mathematically correct, but slightly confusing. It almost feels like time travel.

Still, this is nothing new and aviation has adapted to stranger time quirks before. Similar things happen when travelling short distances in Europe: flights from Amsterdam to London take about an hour and there’s a one-hour time difference. Which means you land the same time as you depart.

The Canadian experiment

Even the experiment to abandon seasonal time changes isn’t new, and British Columbia is not entirely alone in this experiment. The Yukon already switched to permanent daylight saving time in 2020. Residents there now live with extremely late winter sunrises, sometimes well after 10:00 AM.

Most people adjusted without much trouble. If BC sticks with this policy, Canada will effectively have created a small Pacific region that stays on summer time year-round. That might eventually nudge other jurisdictions to reconsider their own clock changes.

The global conversation about time

Meanwhile, the debate over daylight saving time is happening all over the world. Similar to BC, the European Union also voted to forget about seasonal clock changes several years ago. Implementation stalled when member states couldn’t agree whether to adopt permanent standard time or permanent daylight saving time.

For travellers this would be a welcome simplification. The twice-a-year clock shuffle creates small disruptions everywhere. Flight schedules change. Meeting times shift. Our internal clocks struggle for a few days. It’s not dramatic, but it’s a reminder that time zones are human inventions layered on top of a rotating planet.

The real test will be winter

The biggest criticism of permanent daylight saving time is simple: winter mornings get very dark. In Vancouver the sun could rise close to 9 AM in January, which means most people will start their workday before sunrise. But, we’d have lighter evenings allowing for more activities after work. Supporters argue that those brighter evenings matter more to people. Critics worry about darker mornings affecting sleep patterns and commutes.

Like most public policy experiments, the real answer will come from lived experience. If there’s one thing the travel industry has proven over the years, it’s that it adapts quickly. More importantly: Travellers have become surprisingly good at adjusting to the quirks of global time.

The BC decision might quietly start a broader global shift.

Get Into Action

Travel has a funny way of revealing how arbitrary many of our daily systems really are. Time zones, borders, currencies, and even social norms start to look different once you move through them often enough.

That perspective is exactly what inspired my book The Freedom Project: Travel. It’s about using travel not just as an escape, but as a way to rethink the structures we take for granted.

If this story about clocks, borders, and global movement resonates with you, the book is a good place to start exploring how travel can reshape the way you see the world.

Further reading

Over the last few years, travel advisories have started to feel like weather alerts that never expire. Everywhere is yellow. Some places are orange or red. Open any government travel page and you’d think the entire planet is on the brink of collapse.

Are we all just pointing fingers at each other?

I’m not that naïve so let’s start with the obvious: Yes, there are global tensions. There are protests, crime, unstable regions, just to name a few. Ignoring any of these would be irresponsible. But lately the tone of travel warnings feels disproportionate to the lived reality most of us experience when we land somewhere new.

And if I’m honest, I see some of the same things at home. Downtown Vancouver has its own challenges: open drug use, random outbursts, property crime, noise issues, just to name a few. You don’t need a passport to find unpredictability. You just need to step outside.

The Netherlands Is “Yellow” Right Now. So What?

Canada currently rates the entire country of the Netherlands at a level that suggests “exercising a high degree of caution due to the threat of terrorism.”1 Yes, my hometown, The Hague, has seen some heated demonstrations. Some of the footage about riots has been painful to watch, even from a distance. When protests turn chaotic, they can be unsettling.

But here’s the thing: The Netherlands is still one of the most stable, organized, and well-functioning countries in the world. Yes, you should travel there (and probably skip Amsterdam, or move on quickly to something more interesting). The chance of accidentally walking into a violent protest in The Hague is slim to none if you’re paying attention and adjusting plans accordingly if needed.

And that last sentence is the key: Pay attention and adjust accordingly.

That’s not a new rule. That’s always been the rule. I said very similar things in my travel book that was published over a decade ago.

As Mark Twain famously said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” To add to that, travel is also fatal to exaggerated fear when you actually show up and see reality for yourself.

The Advisory Spiral

If you follow the advisory logic too literally, the conclusion is absurd:

Europe warns about terrorism. Canada warns about parts of the U.S. The U.S. warns about Mexico. Mexico warns about parts of the U.S.

So where exactly are we supposed to go? Mars? Elon Musk may soon be selling tickets.2

The truth is that governments issue advisories based on liability, intelligence signals, and risk modelling. They are not wrong, but they’re also not written to inspire confidence. In true government fashion, they are mostly written to cover every possible scenario, using risk calculations that may or may not align with your personality.

But let me be clear: That doesn’t render those advisories useless. It just means they require interpretation. What are you comfortable with? Would you pick an all-inclusive destination, or do you prefer a more local experience?

An advisory is not a verdict on a destination, but just a data point that may help you prepare for your trip.

Perspective Changes Everything

When I traveled to Lima, Santiago, Manila, and other cities that carry heavy reputations online, I noticed something interesting. The people living there were going to work, meeting friends, picking up groceries, and raising families. Just like we do in Vancouver.

Yes, there were neighbourhoods to avoid and precautions to take. But that’s true in every major city I’ve ever visited, including the one I call home today: I don’t wander through the Downtown Eastside at 2 a.m. and then blame the city for being unsafe. I make choices and adapt to stay safe.

Travel works the same way.

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Practical Safety Without Paranoia

Here’s how I personally handle travel advisories without letting them hijack my plans:

• First, I read the advisory in full instead of just the headline colour. Often the warning is specific to certain regions, events, or behaviours.

• Second, I compare it to places I already know well. If a country is rated similarly to a city I’ve lived in comfortably, that helps calibrate my emotional reaction.

• Third, I stay situationally aware everywhere. Usually not hyper-vigilant, just aware: Who’s around me? What’s the vibe? Does this street feel off today? If yes, I pivot.

• Fourth, I avoid obvious risk amplifiers. Excessive drinking, flashy displays of wealth (which may include “normal” things like recent iPhone models or nice cameras - put those away). I also avoid wandering unfamiliar areas late at night alone without a plan. In my travel book, I explain how I travel like a cat: every day I venture a little further from my home base, depending on how comfortable I feel. It’s about baby steps, and small victories.

• Finally, listen to locals, not sensational headlines. Talk to hotel staff, café owners, fellow travellers. They usually give the most grounded advice in the moment.

As Anthony Bourdain once said, “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. But that’s okay.” Discomfort is not the same as danger.

Fear Is Contagious. So Is Courage.

I’ve noticed that the more exhausted I am, the more I default to “maybe we should just stay somewhere safe.” An all-inclusive resort can feel like emotional insulation from the world. And sometimes that may be exactly what you need: the structure helps your system reset.

But I also know that if I always choose the comfortable bubble, I start to lose my edge. I may even start to believe the world is more hostile than it actually is. Even some of my more “off the beaten path” destinations just turned out to be just another place to go.

Most of my most meaningful travel experiences happened because I leaned into curiosity instead of fear. They happened because I explored just a little bit further and trusted my instincts without catastrophizing.

Staying aware of your surroundings is still a good idea. That never changed. Whether you’re in Lima, New York, Amsterdam, or downtown Vancouver.

Despite global tensions, the world did not suddenly become more dangerous this year. We just have more alerts and information about it.

Get Into Action

If travel advisories have you hesitating, I encourage you to zoom out and recalibrate instead of retreating entirely. Read the advisory, understand it, then compare it to places you already know. Decide consciously, not reactively.

If you want a deeper framework for how to travel smarter, safer, and more intentionally, my book The Freedom Project: Travel walks through exactly how I plan trips, assess risk, and still say yes to adventure without being reckless. Travel is not about ignoring reality. It’s about engaging with it wisely.

Bon voyage, and as always, travel safe.

Further reading

There’s a moment in travel when you realize you’re no longer just looking to book a room, you’re looking to feeling welcomed. That moment usually happens when you open the door and notice the view is better than expected, the room is bigger than what you paid for, and there’s a handwritten note waiting for you, and maybe a welcome cocktail or two - on the house, of course. As I said before, it’s about genuinely attentive service at a beautiful place somewhere far from home.

It wasn’t always like that for me. My first night in a hotel is usually not easy. I feel lost, away from home, and need time to adjust. On most trips, I still do. But for my upcoming motorcycle trip, I’m hoping to accelerate that experience as I only have a single night for most stops on an extended ride. So I need to maximize the experience1, and hopefully skip the first night of discomfort.

For my California coastal trip, I’ve booked a lot of hotels in a short period of time, bouncing between coastal towns and cities, and almost every time I check the confirmation email, something quietly stands out: Complimentary upgrades, resort credits, late checkouts.

None of this was advertised in bold letters. It just, happened.

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When upgrades stop feeling like luck

For years, I assumed hotel upgrades were random. A friendly front desk agent, a slow night, or simply being in the right place at the right time. And sometimes that’s still true: you may accidentally score an upgrade by just being nice. But that’s not what I call travel hacking: having a system and being intentional about it. Hotels make money by selling the same room at different rates. The system is being consistently on the “good” side of that equation.

I’ve been a travel hacker for decades, but my motorcycle trip really put it to the test with multiple expensive destinations in a row across multiple hotel brands. This time there were no free flights as I’m spending the entire trip on two wheels. Multiple check-in points where I expected nothing beyond the basics, and yet kept receiving more than I booked: Better rooms, better views, and extra perks that make long riding days feel a little more luxurious after I park the bike.

As someone who values freedom over flash, this kind of luxury hits differently. It’s not about status, but about experience.

Why this matters on a motorcycle trip

When you’re traveling by motorcycle, comfort isn’t optional. After hours on the road, exposed to the elements, the hotel isn’t just a place to sleep. It’s where I recover, reset, and prepare for the next day. A quieter room matters, a balcony matters, sometimes even a late checkout matters when your departure depends on weather and timing rather than a fixed schedule. I don’t often do iron-butt rides and do want to enjoy each destination for a few hours after I park the bike.

Across multiple weeks, those little (complimentary) upgrades compound quickly. They reduce friction, give me space, and save me money. Most importantly: these intentional upgrades make the entire journey feel like an intentional experience rather than rushed.

That’s exactly what these perks provide: less stress, less compromise, and zero negotiating at check-in. It’s feeling welcome. You can’t buy that.

The hidden value most people miss

A lot of people look at memberships like FoundersCard and immediately ask if it’s worth it. I get the skepticism. I had it too. But the math becomes irrelevant when a single booking offsets the cost of the membership. That’s the bar, and I set it high: I just need one meaningful upgrade, one waived fee, one stay where you feel genuinely taken care of - and that should cover my annual membership. By the second perk I’m taking advantage of, I’m making a profit.

Imagine the compounded effect of a multi-week motorcycle trip. What surprised me most wasn’t the savings, but the consistency. Across different cities, different properties, different hotel chains, the experience consistently feels elevated without me having to ask for anything. That’s the kind of quiet advantage I appreciate most, especially when I’m focused on the road and enjoying the experience, not logistics.

This isn’t about luxury travel

I want to be clear about something. This isn’t about chasing five-star experiences or turning travel into a meaningless flex. I still choose routes over resorts and roads over runways whenever I can. I’ve cancelled free business class flights as the timing didn’t align with the experience I was curating - enough said. The places I book reflect my philosophy of maximizing the experience value. Often that means traveling smarter, not harder.

If you’re already investing in travel, especially intentional trips that matter to you, there’s something powerful about stacking the odds in your favour. Letting systems work quietly in the background while you can stay present and just focus on enjoying the experience itself.

Get Into Action

If travel is more than an occasional escape for you, if it’s part of how you structure your life and your freedom, it’s worth learning how these behind-the-scenes advantages actually work. I break this down in my travel book and courses, not as hacks, but as frameworks. Ways to curate trips that feel lighter, smoother, and more aligned with how you want to live.

You don’t need to travel (or spend) more to feel richer. You just need to travel better.

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Exclusive to VIP member of my blog, I can offer you a first year special Elite Membership rate that isn’t publicly available and is even lower than the regular tier membership. That’s not a typo.

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The best educators never stop being students. I may be a trainer and facilitator myself, but I still love to learn. As I say in my author program: If you want to become a better writer, start by reading more. The same applies for me. If I want to become a better coach and trainer, I have to keep learning. This is not just about new content, but discovering new perspectives.

That’s why I enjoy stepping out of my instructor and advisor role and into the student seat, to remind myself what learning feels like from the other side. It’s humbling, and often revealing. Recently, I was invited to participate in a masterclass program on leadership skills. It reminded me that not everyone learns in the same way, and that’s perfectly okay.

The program was very good. The facilitators were energetic, the discussions lively, and the time passed quickly. But I couldn’t shake a familiar feeling I’ve had in other programs like this: something about the format didn’t quite click for me.

The entire experience was built around group exercises and guided discussions, a “DIY learning” approach that’s incredibly popular in corporate training today. You’re not taught a concept first; instead, you’re placed in a scenario, asked to respond, and then guided toward the “right” conclusion.1 It’s engaging, sure, but for someone like me, it can feel a bit like being led through a maze when I’d rather have a map.

Not everyone learns the same way

Learning is different for everyone. We all learn in different ways. Some of us thrive on collaboration and hands-on experimentation. Others, like me, prefer to understand the why before diving into the how. Reversing that order seems like a waste of time for me. I like to learn from someone who has already mastered the topic: someone who can clearly explain the reasoning, and the framework. Don’t ask me to apply a concept before understanding it. Once I’ve internalized the concept, I’m eager to experiment and will probably adapt it on my own.2

I like to learn the “old-fashioned” way: through structured teaching that builds understanding first and application second. I find it frustrating when a program skips that step and assumes everyone learns best through immediate interaction.

Yes, the title of my blog suggests I live (and learn) by experience, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see a model, approach, or theory first, so we can then decide whether to give it a try (or not).

The networking myth

Conferences often promote “networking” as a key benefit. And while I enjoy connecting with people, I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of networking as a scheduled activity. It often feels performative: a flurry of small talk and LinkedIn exchanges that rarely lead anywhere meaningful. I have 10,000+ connections on LinkedIn, and every year they all send me the same canned message for my birthday. That’s not connection, that’s fake. For a while I tried responding to it by giving out my number so we could text, but few took me up on that offer.3 Maybe fake is safer, especially online?

The best connections happen naturally, through ideas and shared values. When you speak authentically, the right people find you. You don’t need to “work the room.” You just need to be real. For us introverts, that’s a relief.4

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Learning and teaching differently

All of this made me reflect on my own approach to teaching. In my programs, I do things differently. I believe in learning through understanding first. You learn the concept, the strategy, the reasoning, and then you apply it through exercises and real-world practice. It’s simple, clear, and, most importantly, it respects how most adults actually learn.

If you’ve ever sat through a training session that left you thinking, “This is fine, but I’m not really learning anything new,” you’re not alone. And if you’ve ever felt out of place in a group workshop because you prefer structure and clarity before collaboration, my programs might feel like home.

Get Into Action

If you’d like to explore my approach to learning, one that values clarity, structure, and practical implementation over endless exercises, you can start with a free preview of any of my courses at Windmill Cloud.

Check it out: a preview costs nothing, and gives you a sneak preview to see if any of my programs resonate enough with you. Once you join, you can learn at your own pace, in your own way, and rediscover the power of learning that actually sticks.

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One more thing: The empathy paradox

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Valentine’s Day has a funny way of turning the volume up on all sorts of things. Suddenly everything is louder, especially the idea that love should look a certain way by a certain point in life. If you’re not in a shiny, Instagram-friendly season, this day may feel oddly alienating. Not because love is missing, but because the version being celebrated feels incomplete.

I’ve never experienced love as something you simply arrive at and unpack. For me, it has always felt closer to travel: Ongoing, unpredictable, sometimes expansive, and sometimes exhausting. Full of moments where you’re deeply grateful you boarded the plane, mixed with moments where you quietly question the long layover route you chose.

Valentine’s Day from the inside, not the highlight reel

Not everyone reading this is in a chapter that photographs well. Some of us are in seasons that require more honesty than performance. Love can feel effortful. It can feel confusing. At times, it can even feel emotionally expensive, especially when growth is involved.

Growth rarely looks romantic from the inside. It often looks like pauses, recalibrations, and difficult conversations you don’t post about. The hardest chapters often carry the most honest lessons. It’s the stories people write books about. They’re uncomfortable because they strip away illusion. They ask you to pay attention rather than rush toward resolution.

Valentine’s Day tends to celebrate outcomes and the pretty pictures. Instead, let’s also take a minute of silence to look at the process: the difficult questions and the quiet realizations that surface for all of us from time to time.

Travel taught me freedom, love challenged it

Travel taught me freedom of movement. The ability to choose direction, to change plans, to leave when something no longer fits. Travel showed me that movement itself can be a form of clarity. Love, on the other hand, challenged that understanding of freedom.

Sometimes love expands freedom. It gives you space to become more of yourself. Sometimes the same love exposes where freedom is missing, where choices feel constrained or unspoken. That contrast can be confronting, and perspective gets much harder when you’re not observing it from a safe distance but living right inside it.

Freedom isn’t the absence of commitment, but the presence of choice. Choice that’s conscious, ongoing, and mutual. Choice that doesn’t rely on momentum or fear, but on clarity. That sounds simple on paper. It’s far less simple when you’re actually in it.

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Hindsight is generous, the inside maybe not

Hindsight gets a lot of credit because it’s clean. When you write the book and share the story, everything lines up nicely once the outcome is known. The middle of any journey, whether it’s travel or love, is far messier. There’s both lost luggage and excess baggage. You don’t have the full map yet. You may not know where you’re going. Maybe you’ve enjoyed one too many glasses of wine in business class on the way there. You’re making decisions with incomplete information and trusting your internal compass more than external validation.

Valentine’s Day can be a useful interruption if you let it be. Not a performance, but a pause. An invitation to rethink what love is supposed to feel like from the inside, beyond what it’s supposed to look like from the outside. To ask whether the version of love you’re moving toward actually aligns with who you are becoming.

Love without losing yourself

This is the space where Love 2.0 came into being. Not as a romantic fantasy, and definitely not as advice delivered from a comfortable distance, but as reflections written from inside the uncertainty. The book is about redefining love, in all areas of life, so it doesn’t cost you yourself.

Love shouldn’t require you to shrink. It shouldn’t demand the abandonment of your values, your curiosity, or your sense of agency. When it does, that’s not romance, it’s a signal worth paying attention to.

At its core, Love 2.0 is about integrity. About staying present with yourself while also learning how to stay authentic with the different circles of people in your life. It’s about questioning inherited scripts and choosing something more honest, even when that choice is uncomfortable.

Accountability changes everything

There’s a moment in every journey where responsibility becomes unavoidable. For me, that realization keeps coming back to the same place: If it’s meant to be, it’s up to me. Not destiny, timing, or someone else’s willingness to change. It’s about you. It’s about your choices, boundaries, and accountability.

That doesn’t mean control, but it does mean radical ownership of all areas of your life. It means recognizing that love isn’t something that happens to you in isolation while you watch from the sidelines. It’s something you participate in, consciously and often imperfectly.

A different way to mark Valentine’s Day

If Valentine’s Day feels complicated this year, you’re not doing it wrong. Maybe you’re just paying more attention for once. Love, like travel, doesn’t move in straight lines. It loops. It pauses with long stopovers at uncomfortable airports (the ones with no business class lounges). It asks difficult questions before offering honest answers. Stuff like - “What’s the purpose of your trip?”

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is stay present in the middle of it all. Not rushing to define, label, or resolve. Just listening closely enough to notice what’s true for you, right now, in this moment.

Get Into Action

If this reflection resonates, Love 2.0 explores these themes of freedom, choice, and accountability in much more depth. It’s written for people who don’t want surface-level answers and aren’t interested in love that comes at the cost of self-respect. The journey is rarely tidy, but it can be honest, and that’s where real transformation begins.

Get my Love 2.0 book

Further reading

Travel has a funny way of lingering. Sometimes it’s jet lag, sometimes it’s a photo you keep scrolling back to, and sometimes it’s a memory you didn’t expect to stick at all.

For me, it was a hotel breakfast.

Nothing dramatic happened. No argument, no mistake, no awkward scene. Just genuinely attentive service at a beautiful place somewhere far from home. Warmth, presence, small details remembered. The kind of interaction that makes you feel less like a room number and more like a person passing through someone else’s working day.

I enjoyed it. And then I checked out. Only later, back to my home routine, did the question start to surface. Should I have tipped more? Should I have done something differently? Did I miss a moment to acknowledge something that felt… surprisingly human?

That question lingered longer than the memory of the croissants.

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The Moments That Linger After The Trip

What surprised me wasn’t the interaction itself, but how long the memory followed me. Was it enough? The staff member had almost certainly moved on to the next table, the next guest, the next shift. That’s how hospitality works. Moments pass quickly when you’re on the inside of them.

But for some reason, I carried this one with me.

This wasn’t about breaking a rule. I didn’t. Breakfast was included. Service was excellent, yes, but excellence was also part of what I’d already paid for. Culturally, tipping wasn’t even expected. And yet the feeling lingered anyway.

Not because something went wrong, but because something felt unfinished.

The Guilt T(r)ip: Tipping Feels Universal

Tipping is one of those things we pretend is universal until we travel and discover it isn’t. Expectations vary wildly from country to country, sometimes even from hotel to hotel. What’s generous in one place is awkward in another. What’s expected at home becomes ambiguous abroad.

I didn’t feel guilty because I violated local etiquette. I felt guilty because I couldn’t tell whether I’d missed an unspoken expectation. Because when service and kindness feels personal, it’s easy to turn appreciation into obligation after the fact.

Travel makes you replay moments in isolation that locals experience every day in motion. You examine interactions that were never meant to be examined. You assign weight to things that, in context, were simply part of the day.

The longer the distance from the trip, the louder that inner questioning can get.

When Service Becomes Human

Service is a mindset.1 The problem with tipping is that money is a blunt instrument for something (good service) that should feel anything but transactional.

What stayed with me wasn’t the service itself. It was the humanity of it. The sense of being noticed, welcomed, treated with care. The stuff that’s not typical for a “breakfast included”. And that’s where tipping becomes complicated, because no amount of calculation perfectly translates gratitude into currency.

Sometimes we tip because it’s expected. Sometimes because it’s deserved. And sometimes because it feels like the only way we know how to say thank you.2

But appreciation isn’t primarily monetary. Presence matters. Tone matters. Treating someone like a person rather than a role matters. Those things don’t disappear just because a tip didn’t happen in the exact way hindsight later prefers.

The Traveler’s Trap: Retroactive Responsibility

There’s a particular trap thoughtful travellers may fall into:

We take responsibility retroactively for moments that were never ours alone to carry.

No matter my thoughts: the other person already moved on. Their day continued. The interaction ended cleanly in real time. The imbalance I felt later existed only inside my mind.

That’s an important distinction. Travel exposes this pattern of trying to repair moments that aren’t broken. We hold ourselves accountable for expectations that were never stated. We mistake uncertainty for failure, and care for debt.

Not every meaningful exchange needs to be perfectly balanced to be complete. Sometimes noticing, appreciating, and remembering is enough.

Letting the Moment Rest

Months later, I realized this wasn’t a tipping issue. It was a letting-go issue.

The goal of travel isn’t to “perform” gratitude flawlessly in every direction and cultural context. It’s to move through the world with awareness, curiosity, and respect, without turning every kind moment into an unpaid obligation we carry home.

The breakfast was great and didn’t need fixing.

And maybe that’s one of the quieter lessons travel offers us: not everything meaningful needs to be monetized, and not every good interaction needs to be resolved into equal certainty to have been something real.

Get Into Action

The next time you travel, notice what stays with you after you return: not just the highlights, but the small, human moments that may surface later. Instead of replaying them as questions about what you should have done, try holding them as reminders of connection and appreciation. Travel isn’t about getting every detail right. It’s about being present while you’re there, bringing some of that experience home, and then learning how to let the moments rest.

Thank you.

Further reading

For years, I treated travel points the way most people treat savings accounts.1 Points are something to accumulate, protect, and spend wisely. Something I felt vaguely proud of watching grow.

And yet, recently, while looking at a redemption I’d missed out on, the thought landed almost uncomfortably clearly: these points aren’t an asset at all. They’re a liability.

The illusion of value

Points feel valuable because they’re framed that way. Loyalty programs encourage hoarding, dashboards celebrate growing balances, and entire corners of the internet obsess over extracting “maximum value.” The language sounds financial, disciplined, even responsible.

But unlike money, points don’t sit still. They don’t earn interest. They don’t appreciate. They don’t become more flexible with time. In fact, the opposite happens: programs change charts, add dynamic pricing, restrict partners, and reframe what “good value” means, all without asking your permission. It’s like inflation, but worse.

What may have looked like a great program to sign up for a few years ago often becomes an average one later, and eventually maybe even a frustrating one when you can’t spend the points you’ve worked so hard to earn.2

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Aeroplan: death by a thousand tweaks

Aeroplan is a good example of this slow erosion of value. In theory, the program still advertises sweet spots and partner awards, and technically those still exist. In practice, many routes now price dynamically3, fixed points availability is increasingly limited, and the number of miles required for the same flights has crept up over time.

This change didn’t happen overnight. No single announcement screamed “devaluation.” Instead, over the last years we’ve seen a series of small changes: more miles here, fewer seats there, less predictability overall.

If you’re holding a large Aeroplan balance, this will impact you more. The longer you wait for that perfect redemption ticket to your dream destination, the more likely the goalposts quietly move again.

WestJet: from dollars to points, and why that matters

WestJet’s recent shift is even more revealing. For years, WestJet Rewards functioned as a dollar bank. If you had $500 in WestJet dollars, that meant $500 off a flight. Simple, and transparent.4 Maybe not exciting as there’s no fixed redemption distances to score a deal, but at least the unit of value was anchored to something real.

Recently, those dollars have been converted into points. In theory, this makes the program more flexible. In reality, it makes it far easier to devalue. Once rewards are abstracted into points, there’s no longer a clear one-to-one relationship with cash. The conversion rate can change, redemption values can fluctuate, and “from” pricing can quietly drift upward.5

Again, even though the “dollars to points” conversion is a bigger change than the Aeroplan “tweaks”, they’ve done nothing illegal or shocking. This is just another reminder that loyalty currencies are designed to benefit the issuer first.

The quiet cost of waiting

The real value of points isn’t obvious until you’re trying to use them. But even then, it shows up as hesitation. You’re second-guessing yourself: should I use these points now, or save them for something bigger and better? Or even worse, should I use them on a destination simply because it’s available, even though maybe I really wanted to go somewhere else.

Slowly we’re starting to build trips around redemptions instead of experiences. We’re passing on something perfectly good today because maybe something better might appear later.

That’s when points start behaving like a liability. They create friction. They introduce mental accounting. They turn travel planning into a game of optimization rather than intention.

I’ve caught myself doing this more than once: refreshing award calendars, doing math that only exists to justify not pulling the trigger. That’s not the experience of freedom I want to experience, let alone advocate for my students and readers.

Devaluation is a slow but steady burn

One of the biggest mistakes we make is thinking devaluations are something sudden, dramatic, and rare. In reality, they’re slow, incremental, and almost boring.

The intention is to fly under the radar, so you don’t notice it. A few extra points here. Fewer partner seats there. “Improved flexibility” that quietly costs more. Over time, the purchasing power of your rewards erodes, not because you did something wrong, but because the rules are designed that way.

The larger your balance with any single program, the larger your liability to the quiet erosion and devaluation of your points.

The antidote? Earning and spending points, maybe imperfectly but always intentionally, always beats waiting indefinitely for an ideal scenario that may never arrive.

Spending points is not failure

There’s a subtle shame attached to “bad” redemptions in the travel hacking world, as if anything below a certain cents-per-point threshold is somehow irresponsible.

I never bought into that shame-culture.

If using points removes stress, simplifies a trip, shortens a connection, or lets you say yes instead of maybe later, that’s value, even if some spreadsheet formula disagrees.

The reason I wrote my travel book was never to teach people how to die with the highest mileage balance. The goal was to travel better, easier, and with fewer constraints. Points that sit unused in an account, accumulating zero interest, don’t help you do that.

Get Into Action: Reframing the game

Once I stopped seeing points as a store of value and started seeing them as a perishable tool, the decisions became simpler. Good enough, now, is often better than perfect, someday.

Points are there to be spent. Preferably sooner rather than later, but definitly before they quietly lose the power you imagined they had. That doesn’t mean being reckless. It just means being honest about what you’re actually holding, and where you’d like to go next.

If you’ve been sitting on a large points balance, consider what it’s really costing you. Look at one upcoming trip and ask a simple question: would using points here make this easier or more enjoyable right now? If the answer is yes, that’s probably reason enough. If you want to explore this mindset further, it’s something I dig into often in my writing and courses, not as a strategy for “winning” travel, but as a way to make travel feel lighter again.

Preview the Travel Revolution

Further reading

When I first published The Freedom Project, I never imagined it would become the cornerstone of something larger. Back then, it was just a book: a personal collection of stories and strategies from my own journey. I had hit burnout, lost my spark, and found myself going through the motions of a life that looked good on paper but felt anything but fulfilling.

My first book1 was a turning point for me, and for many readers too. That was the surprising part: not how many people picked it up, but how many reached out after reading it. The message resonated, not just because it inspired, but because it tapped into something deeper. People didn’t just want to read about freedom, they wanted to live it.

That’s how The Freedom Project evolved from a book into an experience.

The Missing Piece: From Inspiration to Implementation

The truth is, a book can only take you so far. It can light the fire, plant the seed, but the real work begins after you turn the last page. The journey from inspiration to transformation needs more than just a good story. It needs support, structure, and practical tools.

That’s why I created an accompany online course designed to help you apply the ideas from the book in your actual, everyday life. This isn’t about theory. It’s about taking action. It’s about bringing the version of yourself you find while traveling (that curious, open, empowered person) home with you, and letting that version run the show.

Because that’s what I had to learn the hard way. For years, I used travel as an escape from a life I didn’t love. On the road, I felt like myself again: no schedule, no stress, no constraints. I could do what I wanted, go where I wanted, and finally breathe. But every time I returned home, it didn’t take long for the stress to creep back in. Instead of bringing back souvenirs, I started asking myself a different question: What if I could bring that sense of freedom back home?

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A Course Built from Experience, Not Hype

This course is the blueprint I followed to build a life I didn’t need a vacation from. It’s packed with the tools I used to reshape my work, my relationships, my health, and my mindset, including a few insights I didn’t have space to explore in the book. You’ll find ideas I learned from mentors I worked with, people like Jack Canfield and the thinkers behind The Secret, but always with a practical, down-to-earth approach. No fluff, no vague promises. Just strategies that work when you’re ready to work them.

One of the biggest shifts I experienced was learning to define freedom on my own terms. Yes, that meant traveling the world, but also learning to bring the traveler’s mindset into my day-to-day life. That’s something I dive into inside my books and this accompany online course. Whether you’re dreaming of a completely different lifestyle or simply want to reconnect with your spark, this course gives you the tools to make that happen.

I’ve also added a suite of new downloadable resources (ten in total) to help you personalize your journey. Think of them as your freedom toolkit. There’s a Freedom Learning Journal, a Travel Hacking Starter Guide, a Balanced Life Weekly Tracker, and even a Fear-to-Freedom Coaching template to help you work through the blocks that are keeping you stuck.

Reignite Your Passion for Life

Too often, we let life become lukewarm. Not bad. Not great. Just... fine. We answer “how are you?” with a flat “can’t complain” because it feels easier than admitting we’re disconnected from what really matters. But imagine what our lives (and our workplaces) would feel like if we brought real stories to those conversations. Not just “what did you do this weekend,” but “what lit you up this weekend?”

That passion is what The Freedom Project is really about: giving you the framework to create a life that makes you come alive again. One where your days are filled with purpose, your relationships feel authentic, and your work is aligned with what matters most to you.

This isn’t about abandoning your responsibilities or chasing someone else’s definition of success. It’s about redefining success for yourself. And then having the courage (and the tools) to build a life around it.

“You weren’t born to live a lukewarm life. You were born to feel lit up from the inside out.”

Get Into Action

If my books spoke to you, the course will help you live it.

This program is the online version of what I teach across The Freedom Project series: blending the heart of the original book with ideas from Happiness and Love 2.0. It’s for anyone who’s ready to stop waiting and start creating.

Let me show you how to live the life you want, increase your passion, reduce stress, and fall in love with your life again, whether you’re at home, at work, or somewhere halfway across the world.

👉 Click here to preview the course now — and take the first step toward your version of freedom.

Let’s turn your spark into a fire, and your inspiration into a lifestyle.

Further reading

For many years, I’ve recommended LeadPages to my clients, readers, and course students as a platform to build and maintain landing pages as well as complete websites. As everything I recommend, I used it myself to manage my online presence for nearly a decade. It was easy, fast, and reliable. And most importantly: fun to use. I liked pushing the platform to its boundaries, and creating things most others didn’t.

When I originally signed up, it made sense to pay for a done-for-you platform that allowed me to spin up a landing page in minutes without needing to code anything. For a long time, it felt like a fair deal, as it solved a lot of headaches and saved me significant time. I was ok with some platform constraints as a tradeoff.

But in the last year, LeadPages changed its pricing model. And that decision changed everything for me.

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From grandfathered promise to broken trust

Like many long-term users, I was on a grandfathered price plan. One of LeadPages’ original selling points was that if you signed up early, you’d be locked into your rate for life, no surprise increases. This is a model I wish more companies adopted.1 I took them at their word. After all, that was part of what sold me.

That promise quietly disappeared.

Out of the blue, I was informed that my $579 USD/year Pro plan would jump to $888. Admittedly, even at my original rate I’d have to catch my breath every year as the Canadian Peso never converted that US dollar price tag in my favour. The new price would push that well above a thousand dollars, where I had to draw a line. It wasn’t about the money as much as it was about the principle of a broken promise, which ultimately broke my trust.

So I complained, and I was offered a “discounted” rate of $599 as a courtesy, but that still meant paying more—with no change to my needs or usage. And as a Canadian, the worsening exchange rate means this hike hit even harder. What used to be manageable is now well over $1,000 CAD annually for a tool I rarely touch these days.

So I reached out to customer support again.

Their response? “Grandfathered rates are not promised nor guaranteed.”

Ouch.2

For me, it was the last straw, but also the final push I needed

What I do today is more personal: writing, teaching, building. LeadPages used to help me do that within a structured system. But when they doubled my rate, that structure started to feel more like a constraint than a convenience.

Ironically, the price hike became an unexpected gift: it pushed me to invest in building something I truly own.

I dusted off my coding skills and began creating self-hosted landing pages using lightweight, modern tools3. It took a bit of time, but the result was my own platform that gives me full creative control. I can finally do things that were never possible inside the rigid box of a SaaS template system.4

While I haven’t looked back, I also realize that the huge amount of additional work to get things up and running again isn’t for everyone. While I may enjoy putting together a new online project on a rainy Vancouver Sunday afternoon (preferably with a bottle of wine), your priorities may be different.

But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong for you

So billing disputes aside, I’m not here to trash LeadPages, because for the right person, it can still be a fantastic solution. If you’re just getting started, or you simply want to launch quickly without worrying about code, hosting, or design quirks, LeadPages might still be the best tool for the job.

They’ve added AI tools, blog hosting, custom domains, and team features that can be a great fit for growing small businesses. And if time is your most precious asset, their drag-and-drop builder can get you from idea to launch in record time.

Sometimes, principles matter more than price

For me, it just wasn’t the right fit for me anymore. Especially when the price jumped and the principles shifted. I was fine working within the constraints of a platform designed by someone else, until they changed the terms. At that point, the incentive tipped in favor of independence. I chose creative freedom over convenience, and that trade-off was worth it for me.

But not everyone wants to build their own thing from scratch. And that’s okay.

If you’re not ready to code or host your own site, and you just want to build fast, LeadPages is still worth considering. But go in with your eyes open. Don’t assume the price you sign up for today will be there tomorrow.

Get Into Action

If you’re currently using LeadPages and weighing your options, ask yourself:
Are you paying for ease and speed, or are you settling out of habit? There are other options available that may work for you (see below or visit my VIP Lounge for additional links and resources).

If you’re still curious about LeadPages, you can explore the platform using the link below to claim a 2 week free trial.

LeadPages Free Trial

Use what works, for you.

VIP Insider: What I Use Instead

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For most of my life, I’ve felt allergic to the idea of chasing status. Flashy job titles never appealed to me. Ever since a young age I liked the “simple” idea of being a consultant, or advisor. In my mind that meant I didn’t have to do anything or be good at any skill in particular, but could help other people do what they were good at. It wasn’t about me, but about them.

I’ve come to realize it’s not necessarily that easy, but there’s a truth here. I was never trying to climb some corporate ladder or score a six-figure salary just to check a box. Life has to be more than that, right?

Vocation vs vacation

Instead, I found myself coming back to the same question every 5-10 years or so:

What would it take to build a life I don’t need a vacation from?

One of my mentors, Dr John Demartini1, once said “once your vocation feels like a vacation, you’ve mastered your life.” That perspective changed everything, more than once in my career. Every couple of years this question forces me to re-think the status-quo, and make a few tweaks, that over time change everything.

This lifestyle-by-design thinking became the north star that helped me redesign my life from the ground up a few times. It was never about reinventing yourself, but more about making small changes that over time led to big results. It didn’t lead to instant riches or viral success.2 What it did lead to was freedom, the kind that’s deeply personal and quietly powerful.

What Is a Personal Economy?

A personal economy isn’t about net worth or trending hashtags. It’s the combination of income streams, lifestyle choices, and simple systems that allow you to live your life on your terms.

It’s not necessarily about making millions, although (let’s be honest) there’s nothing wrong with that. Often a lot of passion and meaning are lost in the pursuit of millions. First, it’s about creating enough: enough time to do what matters, enough money to take care of your needs (and the occasional nice-to-have), and enough breathing room to say yes to what inspires you and no to what doesn’t.3

Your version of that economy will look very different than mine. Your goals are different. But I’ve come to realize that the process to get there shares a common DNA: clarity, consistency, and the courage to try something different and think outside the box. And to follow a system consistently, regardless of where you are today

How I Built Mine (Without a Windfall or a Breakthrough)

If you’re expecting a rags-to-riches story or a startup pitch, this isn’t it. I didn’t quit my job in a blaze of glory or have some massive breakthrough moment. I started slow. Deliberately. Quietly. And then kept going.

I looked at what I already had: a background in IT service management and consulting, a passion for travel and photography, and a love for writing — especially about things I’ve tried and tested myself. Contrary to most humble-bragging social media posts, my books and courses also share what didn’t work. They’re cautionary tales sometimes, helping you truly live by experience. That approach might sound random, but for me, it has become a mindset for success.4

From there, I began layering in different ways to earn and share. Trying to add new and different things that I enjoyed. I built online courses based on what I knew people were already asking me. I wrote books, not because I had all the answers, but because I had stories and systems that worked. My photography, once a private pursuit, found its way into prints and art gallery exhibitions. Even a few affiliate partnerships grew naturally from the tools and platforms I already used and loved.5

Nothing was overnight. But over time, I built something more valuable than a business: I built momentum. I built the ability to make decisions based on values, not fear. That’s what freedom looks like: not unlimited money, but the power to make a different choice.

Why This Approach Matters More Than Ever

In a world obsessed with hustle culture, productivity hacks, and passive income promises, it’s easy to get swept up in someone else’s idea of success. Most gurus sell a model that worked for them, back in the day. Their model will probably never work for you or me (that’s a real promise). I’ve spend a lot of money learning that lesson the hard way. You’ve got to do things your way. Using other people as advisors and consultants is fine, but please avoid the idea they have the final answer for you. Nobody does, not even if they charge you $15,000+ for an exclusive mastermind retreat. Just saying.6

Designing a personal economy is the antidote to all of that. It’s a quiet rebellion against burnout. It asks: What matters to you, what gives you joy, and how can you shape your life around that? Not in some abstract, someday sort of way. But here, now. On your own terms, nobody else’s.

It took me decades to figure that out. And the truth is, I’m still figuring it out — but I’m no longer starting from scratch. I have a framework, and more importantly, I have a life that reflects my values instead of undermining them.

If You’re Ready to Explore This Too…

I’ve just updated my Financial Freedom course with the exact tools I used (and still use) to create and sustain my personal economy. It’s not a pitch for entrepreneurship. It’s not a get-rich scheme. It’s a practical, no-fluff resource for anyone who wants to live a little more intentionally and earn a little more creatively.

You’ll find a behind-the-scenes look at how I built multiple income streams without a massive following, along with 12 unconventional ways to earn more, even without ever starting a business. There’s also a 30-day action plan and printable worksheets to help you get started.

You can preview the course for free. If the preview resonates, keep going.

Preview the course

The final goal isn’t money. The goal is freedom: the kind that lets you wake up without dreading the day ahead. If that sounds like something worth building, have a look at the course and take that first step.

After all, the best version of success isn’t something you chase. It’s something you design. Cheers to you.

Further reading

Every January, I see the same “new year, new you” both on social media and in advertising (in particular from gyms).1 We’re tempted to buy into the usual pattern: declare some big, shiny resolution for some neglected area of life. For real, this time. But when my clock was approaching midnight, I thought about something less glamorous, and maybe a bit more honest.

My phone was charging beside me, as I make sure it never goes down to zero. I’ve enabled all the latest battery-health features, I carry extra chargers and a power bank when I travel, and generally make sure it has enough juice to get me through my day. But do we extend that same battery care to ourselves?

So the real question for my new year’s resolution2 became painfully simple: Where is my emotional battery at today? Am I charged? Charging? Drained? Or quietly running on empty while pretending everything is fine?

Checking In Before You Shut Down

We’ve normalized the idea that our “smart” devices deserve constant care and proactive maintenance, yet we treat our own energy like something that will magically replenish itself. It doesn’t. When the body runs low on energy, the mind starts borrowing negativity to explain it. Suddenly everything feels heavier, more dramatic, more hopeless. Not because life changed, but because your battery did.

For you, the recharge might look completely different. Some people refill through movement, noise, connection, or doing something creative. Others find it in spa days, motorcycle rides, long solo runs, or hiding in my office at home to do some writing. Whatever these are for you, it’s the equivalent of plugging yourself in and charging the battery.

Feeling guilty for needing solitude, or whatever it is for you, is like feeling guilty for needing sleep. You can’t function on no sleep. Recharging is required for a functioning human system.

Relaxation Equals Trust

One of my favourite reminders for the year ahead is this: relaxation is not the absence of doing; it’s the presence of trust. Trust that the world will not fall apart if you take a breath. Trust that being still doesn’t make you less ambitious or lazy. We’re human beings, not human doings. Before anything else, relaxation is the foundation for ambition.

Res(e)t is proactive. Recovery is reactive. As much as I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise over the years by always keeping going, I deserve proactive.

This is something I’ve known for a long time, but will try to take more seriously in 2026: my mental, physical, social, and financial wellbeing are not separate categories on a todo-list. You can’t work on one area of life without impacting the others. When you neglect one, the others will eventually wobble. When I take care of myself in one area, the benefits spill over into everything else.

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Tiny Changes, Big Year

As you step into 2026, ask yourself the same question you instinctively ask about your phone: How much charge do I have right now, and what do I need to stay energized?
Whatever your answer is, honour it. Your wellbeing is asking to become the priority this year. Not when you’ve hit zero percent, but while you still have the power to act.

The small adjustments matter most:

• A two-minute check-in with your energy.

• A moment of solitude before jumping into the noise.

• A small ritual that keeps you grounded.

• A choice that makes you feel more like yourself.

Forget resolutions. Build a mental fitness plan for the new year. One that strengthens the system that holds all your goals together. Maybe that’s the quiet magic of a new year: becoming more supported, more grounded, more yourself.

If you’d like a little guidance or inspiration as you map out the habits, rituals, and micro-shifts that will carry you through 2026, you’re welcome to preview any of my courses for free. Not because I have all the answers, but because sometimes your brain just needs a few fresh sparks to discover what works for you, and to get there a little faster.

Free course previews

Further reading

December 26 has always felt like the most honest day of the year to me. The gifts have been opened. The messages have been sent. The meals have been cooked and eaten. The obligations that came with Christmas Day are officially done. There’s nothing left to perform, no one left to impress, no schedule insisting that you show up in a particular way. Once the pressure is gone, I usually enjoy the leftovers on “Boxing Day” more than the actual Christmas dinner. We somehow find space, and for many of us, that’s unfamiliar territory.

It’s often the first moment all year where the background noise drops enough that I can actually hear myself think. Not in a “I have everything figured out” kind of way, but in a quieter, more honest way. The kind where thoughts surface that don’t usually get airtime during a busy year, let alone in the busy weeks leading up to the holiday season. But today, it’s quiet.

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”

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Tweede kerstdag and the lost art of a second pause

Growing up in the Netherlands, December 26 wasn’t Boxing Day. It was (and to me, still is) tweede kerstdag, literally the second Christmas Day.1 It’s not a day for shopping or chasing deals, but another day to stay inside the holiday, without needing to add anything to it.

Somehow, North America has replaced that second pause with more fake urgency. A rush to buy everything we didn’t get. A rush to turn stillness into productivity. A rush to fill the quiet as fast as possible, as if silence itself is something to fix. I think we’ve got it all wrong.

But this second Christmas day isn’t empty. It’s open. And openness can feel uncomfortable when you’re not used to sitting with it. It invites reflection without demanding answers. It creates room for questions that don’t need to be solved right away, or maybe ever. Doing that for two days in a row can feel a little scary, maybe?

Before the resolutions kick in

This is the moment before the New Year pressure machine comes roaring back online. Before January starts whispering, or shouting, about reinvention, discipline, and optimization. Before the internet (and your local gym) starts telling you who you should become and how fast you should get there. More about that next week.

I’ve learned that this in-between space matters more than the resolutions themselves. It’s the quiet period when Christmas is done but the New Year hasn’t started yet. Sometimes the only thing that’s needed is a pause long enough to notice where you actually are. Today, the world really needs a second Christmas Day, maybe more than ever.

I’m increasingly okay with the idea that some questions aren’t meant to be answered. They’re meant to be carried. Turned over in your hands. Looked at from different angles. Considered, not answered. This day, more than any, provides that space.

That realization has shown up in unexpected places for me. In travel. In relationships. In work. In the small, everyday choices that shape a life more than the big, dramatic ones ever could.

Travel isn’t the point, but it helps

Travel didn’t solve anything for me this year. Despite my travel books and courses, I hate to admit it: It never really does. That was never the point. What travel did do was to continue to create space. Space away from routines, assumptions, and familiar noise. Space to see patterns that are harder to spot when you’re embedded in them.2

Travel has a way of stripping things down. It reminds me that meaning isn’t tied to scale or luxury. Fine dining can be wonderful, but so can a food court. A cruise can be comfortable and memorable, and so can sleeping in a tent. I’ve had just as much joy in both.

The question of “which is better” isn’t the point. The grass is always greener on the other side. Maybe that’s not a question that needs an answer at all. Maybe it’s enough to notice what you enjoy, what grounds you, and what makes you feel more like yourself in any given moment.

It’s okay to not have a definitive identity or preference. One day I can be one thing, and the next day something else. That flexibility feels more honest than forcing coherence where it doesn’t naturally exist.

The year isn’t over yet

December 26 through December 31 often gets treated as a write-off. As dead days: time to kill before the arbitrary calendar flips and everything magically resets and you’ll become the “new you” literally overnight. Pardon the sarcasm.

These dead days are very much alive and still belong to this year in your life. Don’t write them off. They still shape how it ends, and quietly, how the next one begins. Endings and beginnings are closer than we think, especially if you’ve ever crossed time zones, borders, or major life transitions. There’s always overlap. There’s always a threshold moment where you’re no longer fully in one place, but not yet in the next. Maybe, there’s also magic there.

My wish for the coming year, in a very complicated world, comes from a sentiment which is loosely inspired by Mark Twain3:

“I am convinced that people can shrink prejudice through global travel. We can aspire to a society where all individuals can live together in harmony. We can be free as we are independent.”

Maybe that freedom starts with curiosity. Maybe it starts with rest. Maybe it starts with choosing to add something new, instead of endlessly fixing what’s already there.

Get Into Action: Add Something New

This quiet stretch, before the year officially ends, is one of the best moments to begin something meaningful. Momentum doesn’t come from waiting for January or writing resolutions. So if this in-between week is stirring something for you, there are a few gentle ways to work with that energy instead of pushing against it.

• If writing has been calling you, Write a Book in a Week exists for exactly this kind of moment. Very few people ever finish writing a book. Starting now, while the year is still quiet, gives those ideas room to become something real.

• If travel is where your mind keeps wandering, Travel Revolution is about planting seeds long before you pack a bag. Better travel rarely happens by accident. It starts with learning how to think differently about timing, opportunities, and access, often months in advance, when everyone else is distracted.

• And if what you’re craving is a broader reset, my Break Free Xperience is designed to help you step back and look at how all the pieces fit together. Not to reinvent yourself, but to reconnect with what actually matters and build from there.

And if none of that feels right right now, that’s okay too. You can always pick up a book, one of mine or someone else’s, and spend a few quiet hours reading. Sometimes the most meaningful action is simply giving yourself space to do nothing, and to think without an agenda. I’m still learning that skill myself.

The year isn’t over yet. There’s still time to start something new, in a way that feels meaningful to you.

Once again, from my corner of the world to yours: Merry Second Christmas Day to you. 🎄

View my holiday card

Further reading

One of the side effects of being an immigrant in Canada is that I still don’t know all the holidays by heart. I know Christmas (and my own birthday), but Family Day, Victoria Day, and some of the others usually come as a surprise. In the early years, there have been days where I opened my laptop to check my inbox, only to realize the country has quietly agreed to stop working. That’s ok, I’m happy to adapt and take an extra day off now and then.

A while ago, on one of these “holidays”, I received an email from a potential client, letting me know they didn’t need my help on their author journey. That’s ok, what I teach is not for everyone. But if you email me on a holiday to explain that you don’t need any help, you probably could use some assistance to work on what matters most.

This Year Was… a Lot

I’m tired. Not burned out in a dramatic way, just tired in the slow, accumulated sense. That’s not a complaint, just an observation. Vancouver days are short this time of year, and the last few weeks it’s been dark when I started and finished work. Add to that everything else I want to do in a day, and you end up with the kind of fatigue you don’t notice while you’re moving, only when things finally ease up a little. Hello, Christmas vacation.1

Relaxing is not something I’m naturally good at. My default mode is forward motion. Keep going. One more thing. One more idea. One more story for my blog. This holiday season feels like a gentle reminder that rest isn’t a reward for finishing everything. It’s a proactive part of the process.

Recharge Before You Hit Zero

The opposite of love is indifference. That applies to how we treat ourselves as well. Do you care enough about your own well-being to pause, or keep going simply because that’s what you’re used to?

Most of us don’t let our phone drain itself to zero without plugging it in. Yet somehow we treat ourselves with less care. The holidays are a decent excuse to interrupt that pattern. At least I’m going to try. Turn the phone off for a bit. Let things wait. Create some space between myself and whatever feels urgent. I like the idea of “Hawaiianizing” your mind when stress shows up.2 Finding some warmth and distance for a few minutes may bring fewer sharp edges.

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”

Rest doesn’t need to be earned and it doesn’t need to be optimized. Sometimes it’s just choosing not to push when no one is actually asking you to.

From my corner of the world to yours

If you can, step outside at night sometime over the holidays, maybe Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve. You may not see stars as there’s a lot of light pollution where many of us live, but that’s not really the point. There’s something grounding about feeling cold air and a night sky that asks nothing of you. Maybe the world around you has quieted down a little bit. Just a small reminder that you’re here, alive, and allowed to exist without producing anything for a moment.

Wherever you’re reading this from, I hope the season brings rest, good memories, and space to dream about what’s ahead. And if travel is part of that picture, I hope it’s the kind that leaves you richer in experiences, not just miles. Wishing you a happy holiday season, and a new year filled with curiosity and meaningful experiences.

From my corner of the world to yours: Merry Christmas 🎄

*slams laptop shut for the holidays*

Please do hesitate to reach out to me the rest of the year. 🎅 😉

View my holiday card

Further reading

If you’ve lived abroad long enough, you probably know the feeling of arriving “home” only to feel like a stranger. The streets are familiar, but your life has outgrown them. And yet, when you return to your new country, part of you aches again.

It’s not the same homesickness that hits in the early days, when everything feels unfamiliar. It’s something quieter, much more complicated. You realize you’ve built a good life in your new country with routines, friendships, and habits that all combined create a new feeling of “home.” And yet, there’s a part of you that never quite fits.

The irony is that returning to your home country doesn’t solve it either. I’ve booked last-minute homesickness trips, and even contemplated the possibilities of ditching the maple syrup and moving back for good. But for most expats, neither really work. You step off the plane expecting a wave of familiarly and belonging, but instead, you feel like a visitor in a place that’s supposed to be yours. It’s not anymore. The streets are familiar, but something subtle has shifted. You wonder - maybe it’s the place that’s changed, or maybe it’s you.

This ache of (not) belonging is the hidden price of building a life across borders:

You gain the richness of two worlds, but you lose the illusion that one place can ever contain all of who you are.

When “Home” Stops Being a Place

When I first started travelling, I thought of home as a fixed point on the map. Being abroad, I felt like that “dot on the map”, far away from where I belonged. Over time, that idea unraveled. Canada slowly stopped feeling temporary. I built friendships, habits, and memories that belong here. And yet, whenever I speak Dutch or smell something that reminds me of Europe, a part of me lights up that’s been quiet for months.

Home isn’t one place anymore. It’s a the different pieces I carry with me: the people I love, the memories that shaped me, the small rituals that make me feel grounded. It hasn’t much to do anymore with where on the planet I am. It’s the familiar taste of Dutch coffee mixed with the sound of rain on a Vancouver morning. Home has become a mosaic: bits of my past, present, and future coexisting in one life today.

That mosaic is both comforting and disorienting. You can love where you live and still miss where you came from. You can book a last-minute homesickness trip to your hometown, and still long for your adopted homeland from the second you came “home”. Living abroad is messy, and there’s no neat resolution. The answer lies in a widening of your definition of belonging.

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Should you stay or should you go?

Dreams don’t always work out for the better. But even when life abroad is good, distance has a way of tugging at your heart strings when you least expect it. Sometimes it’s a phone call that brings it out: the familiar voice of a friend or family member on the other end of the line, reminding you how far away you really are. Other times it’s a memory, a familiar smell, or a holiday that doesn’t feel quite the same where you are now. It’s usually Christmas and birthdays that get to me most, and that’s ok.

While you can rationalize these feelings away, these moments can still stir up tough questions. Was it all worth it? Maybe it’s time to move back? Is life really better here? Should you stay, or should you go? And if you go, where?

Often, those thoughts aren’t about wanting to start over again. You’ve done that already, and even though you could do it again1, the hard questions are a longing for the simplicity of belonging somewhere fully again. Which may never happen. As an expat, you’re stuck in between, forever. The feelings are emotional, not practical. You can know that your life is here, that you’ve built something meaningful, and still feel the pull of the place you came from.

The important thing is to recognize the difference between wanting to return and wanting relief from the ache. Sometimes all you’re really craving is connection. Something, or someone, to ground you in the here and now.

Building Bridges Between Worlds

When the distance feels heavy, it helps to build small bridges that connect both disjointed parts of my life.

For me, running has become one of those bridges. After long runs or races, I sometimes share a photo or quick message with family and friends back home. It’s a simple way of saying, I thought of you today. I also have small reminders around me of where I came from: photos, postcards, little Dutch details that make my Canadian home feel more complete. But similarly, I have mementos from South America, Asia, Europe, and many of the remarkable destinations I’ve been able to visit so far.

For you, those bridges might look different. Maybe it’s cooking a familiar meal, lighting a candle, or calling someone at the same time every week. The ritual doesn’t matter as much as what it represents: that you can live far away, without feeling completely disconnected from both worlds you belong to.

The Myth of Choosing

A lot of expats feel pressure to “pick” one identity over the other—to be fully immersed in the new country or to stay loyal to their roots. But life isn’t that binary. You don’t have to choose between where you came from and where you are now. You can belong to both. It’s not and “either/or”, but “and”.

You can still cheer for your home country during sports events, speak your native language with pride, and celebrate your old traditions, while also at the same time embracing the culture, people, and experiences that have shaped your new life. You can let the two blend naturally. In many ways, you are the blend.

Belonging doesn’t always mean fitting perfectly. Sometimes it just means feeling at peace with the fact that you don’t belong in a single place anymore. Your life has become a unique perspective to the world, where both perspectives are equal, at the same time.

Making Peace with the In-Between

You’re not the same person who left, and that’s the point. You’ve stretched beyond the physical and emotional borders that once defined you. You now carry two sets of values, two languages, two perspectives. The truth is, that makes you richer, not rootless.

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”

I’ve come to think of this in-betweenness as its own kind of freedom. It’s not about losing a home, it’s about gaining another one and realizing that the idea of home has expanded beyond geography. You’ve built a life that belongs to more than one place, and that’s something most people don’t get to experience.

Get Into Action

If you’ve ever felt that quiet ache of belonging everywhere and nowhere at once, you’re not alone. My book The Freedom Project: Happiness dives deeper into how travel can spark a lasting sense of freedom—and how to bring that feeling home with you, wherever home happens to be. You can find it on Amazon, or start exploring at freedomprojectbook.com/happiness

One more thing…

The poem “terugkeer naar het Stille Strand” (by Eric Wisse) on the cover image of this post is a picture I took during one of my runs through the beautiful dunes of The Hague, between Kijkduin and Scheveningen.

The poem was written for a circular wall of an electricity-house near the beach between Scheveningen and Kijkduin, in The Hague area. It was created with a sense of place: the mood of returning to the beach, letting “secondary matters” drift away (“bijzaken verwaaien”), sensing the sea and dunes and finding space to love (“hier is ruimte / om lief te hebben”).

Here’s a loose translation:

Return to the Silent Shore 
minor matters drift away  

the sea swells through the dunes 
the surf whispers in the treetops  

here is space 
to love 

Further Reading