We all know the feeling. That moment when the calendar fills up, the emails stack higher, and your body starts whispering (or shouting) that it needs to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. The urge to book a flight, pack a bag, and simply leave.
But here’s something worth sitting with: not all departures are created equal. Some trips leave you genuinely restored. Others leave you with a tan, a few nice photos, and the same gnawing restlessness you left with. What makes the difference?
It might come down to a deceptively simple question. Are you travelling away from something, or toward something?
The Psychology of Getting Away
Let’s be clear: wanting to escape is not a character flaw. Psychologists have studied the role of leisure in wellbeing for decades, and the evidence is pretty unambiguous. We need breaks. Real ones. Research published in the Journal of Happiness Studies outlines what’s known as the DRAMMA model, which identifies six psychological needs that leisure fulfils: detachment, relaxation, autonomy, mastery, meaning, and affiliation. When travel hits several of these, we come back better than we left.
The trouble starts when escape becomes the only gear we have. When we’re not moving toward rest, discovery, or connection, but simply fleeing the discomfort of our ordinary lives. Dr Charlotte Russell, a clinical psychologist who writes about travel and mental health, puts it this way: escaping occasionally is healthy. It’s when we use travel as our only coping strategy, or when we use it persistently and in excess, that things tip into avoidance.
There’s a difference between needing a break and needing to never come back. One is rest. The other is a warning sign.
If you’ve been caught in a burnout cycle for a while, it can be hard to tell them apart. Exhaustion flattens everything. It makes a week in Tenerife feel like survival rather than pleasure. And while there’s nothing wrong with lying on a beach doing absolutely nothing, it’s worth asking yourself: am I running from my life, or am I giving myself permission to rest so I can return to it?
That distinction matters more than we often admit.
What “Travelling to Find” Actually Looks Like
There’s a different kind of trip. One that doesn’t promise relaxation so much as revelation. These aren’t holidays in the traditional sense. They’re harder, often less comfortable, and they ask something of you.
Walking 800 kilometres across northern Spain isn’t most people’s idea of a good time. Neither is spending ten days in silence at a meditation retreat, or climbing to a remote monastery in the Himalayas. But people do these things. Millions of them, every year. And when you ask them why, the answers rarely involve phrases like “I wanted to unwind.”
They wanted to understand something. About themselves. About what matters. About what to do next.
Psychologists distinguish between hedonic and eudaimonic wellbeing. Hedonic is about pleasure, comfort, the absence of pain. Eudaimonic is about meaning, growth, purpose. Most conventional travel is hedonic. It optimises for enjoyment, which is wonderful and necessary. But eudaimonic travel does something different. It challenges. It strips away the familiar. It puts you in situations where you can’t rely on your usual distractions.
And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.
If you’ve been feeling disconnected, exhausted beyond what sleep can fix, or emotionally numb, these can be signs you’re overdue for something deeper than a spa weekend. Not because spa weekends aren’t valuable. But because some kinds of tiredness aren’t physical.
Destinations That Draw Seekers
Certain places have been pulling people toward them for centuries. Not tourists. Seekers. People who arrive with questions, even if they can’t quite articulate them yet.
The Camino de Santiago is probably the most famous example. Every year, hundreds of thousands of people walk its ancient routes across Spain, following paths that pilgrims have traced since the medieval period. Many are not religious in any conventional sense. They walk because walking strips away distraction. Because moving through a landscape at three miles an hour does something to the mind. Because there’s a strange alchemy in physical hardship and shared purpose.
Other places work differently but achieve something similar. Lourdes, in southern France, draws six million visitors annually. Fatima, in Portugal, sees five million. In Croatia, the town of Medjugorje has become one of Europe’s most visited pilgrimage sites, attracting an estimated two million people each year, many seeking something they struggle to name. If you’re curious about what draws people there, the Medjugorje Blog offers first-hand accounts from pilgrims.
What connects these destinations isn’t denomination. It’s orientation. These are places people travel to rather than from. They’re not escapes. They’re encounters.
The same principle applies to secular contexts. Vipassana retreats ask participants to spend ten days without speaking, reading, or making eye contact. Certain wilderness programmes take people into remote landscapes with minimal gear. Transformative travel operators design itineraries around challenge, service, or inner work rather than sightseeing.
What unites all of these is intention. You’re not going to consume an experience. You’re going to be changed by one.
How to Know Which Trip You Need
Here’s the honest truth: sometimes you just need to lie down. Sleep in. Eat well. Swim in warm water and read trashy novels. If your nervous system is fried, throwing yourself into a demanding pilgrimage might be counterproductive. Rest is not a lesser form of travel. It’s essential.
But if you’ve taken those kinds of trips and they don’t seem to be working anymore. If you return home feeling vaguely guilty, or empty, or like you’ve merely postponed something inevitable. That might be a signal.
Ask yourself a few questions before you book.
What am I hoping to feel when I get back? If the answer is “nothing different, just temporarily better,” that’s fine. That’s what holidays do. But if you’re hoping for clarity, direction, or change, you might need a trip that matches that ambition.
Am I moving toward something or away from something? There’s no wrong answer here, but it’s worth being honest about it. Running away can be necessary in the short term. But it’s not a long-term strategy.
What would challenge me in a good way? Not every challenge is valuable. But some discomfort is generative. Physical effort. Silence. Unfamiliarity. Time alone with your thoughts. If these feel frightening, they might also be exactly what’s called for.
And finally: do I keep taking the same trip hoping for different results?
If you’re interested in exploring how travel can recharge both mind and body, it helps to get clear on what kind of recharging you actually need. Sometimes it’s rest. Sometimes it’s something more demanding.
Returning Different
Here’s what separates a trip from an experience that actually alters you: you come back different. Not just rested. Different.
Maybe you return with more patience. Or with less tolerance for things that drain you. Perhaps you’ve gained clarity about a decision you’d been avoiding. Or perhaps you simply feel more yourself than you have in months.
These aren’t things you can guarantee. Transformation isn’t something you can purchase or schedule. But you can create the conditions for it. You can choose destinations that ask something of you. You can build in space for reflection rather than filling every hour with activity. You can go alone, or go with people who are also seeking rather than just escaping.
If planning your own wellness retreat is something you’ve considered, that same intentionality applies. What do you want to come back with? Start there.
Because the world is full of beautiful places to escape to. But the places that change you are rarer. They’re worth finding.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can a trip be both escape and discovery?
Absolutely. Most meaningful travel contains elements of both. You might begin a journey wanting to get away from stress, and find that the experience itself offers unexpected insight. The distinction isn’t binary. What matters is awareness. If you know you’re escaping, you can also stay open to what you might discover along the way.
Do I need to go somewhere far away to experience transformative travel?
Not necessarily. Distance helps create separation from routine, which is why many people find remote destinations effective. But transformation is more about how you travel than where. A three-day silent retreat an hour from your home might shift more than a two-week beach holiday abroad. It depends on what you need and what you’re willing to engage with.
Is solo travel better for self-discovery?
Solo travel removes the social buffers that often keep us comfortable. Without companions, you’re more likely to sit with your thoughts, make unexpected connections, and confront parts of yourself you normally avoid. But shared travel can also be profoundly meaningful, especially when the people you’re with are also oriented toward growth rather than distraction. The quality of the company matters more than its presence or absence.
