Dealing With Travel Burnout
By: Sarah Thibault
Tags: Artist Residency, Artist, Digital Life, Art, Digital Nomad

Dealing With Travel Burnout

A look at some of the unique challenges I encountered after attending artist residencies for a year.

Drawing made at the Nes Artist Residency in Iceland. “Self-portrait (hot pot)”, graphite on paper, 2019.

I have been traveling now for a little over a year. During this time, I have experienced tremendous highs, have enjoyed my freedom and have seen myself grow as a person. But as I faced some logistical setbacks, the charm of my nomadic life started to wear thin.

Especially when I first started, I was dazzled by everything I saw. I was so excited to get out of my métro-boulot-dodo routine that nothing would phase me. My first stop back in July 2018 was Mexico City. It’s is a crowded, sprawling metropolis that is more than just a little dangerous for women. But I was leaving behind a lifestyle in San Francisco that no longer suited me, so when I moved into my apartment in the way-out-there neighborhood of Claveria, I was ready to take it on. Adventure!

It was all new and exciting as traveled around to ancient temples, gothic churches, archeology museums, delicious local restaurants. Even after I got super sick from food poisoning, and remained so for the rest of my trip, I still was able to muster the energy to connect with an amazing group of women and go on weekend trips to other regions around central Mexico.

Back in Athens after 17 years

This sparkly feeling of wanderlust continued for the next few months as I traveled to Greece and Paris, where I revisited places I had been on my study abroad trip almost 20 years earlier.

Six months in, I was still feeling confident about my ability to adjust to the many changes required by life on the road and so when I arrived back in San Francisco for a few months, I started to plan an even longer trip abroad to attend artist residencies in Iceland and Europe for a 5-month stretch.

The magic of Skagastrond, Iceland — home of the Nes artist residency

When my plane first touched down in Reykjavik in March, I felt like I had landed on the moon. The rush of this foreign-looking place was validating, and I knew I was where I was supposed to be. Plus, I was relieved to be free of the stress of driving long commutes back and forth over the Bay Bridge and working extra hours to cover the high cost of living in the Bay Area. Plus, I was meeting new people and expanding my worldview in the most fun way possible: through art!

But then about a third of the way into this new trip while in Europe, I was hit with a wave of bad luck: multiple financial ‘surprises’ that left my budget at least $1000 short, a weird group living dynamic at one of the residencies and a bunch of small mishaps include bug bites on my face that swelled one of my eyes shut. Something was clearly not right. I was out of flow with the universe and was starting to doubt my decision to go on such a lengthy trip.

The beginning of the end of the honeymoon

As my rose-colored glasses wore off and my budget continued to shrink, I was hit by the everyday realities of the quaint towns that I lived in. Things that had been charming were starting to grate on my nerves, like unreliable transportation, technology issues, a lack of art materials, and limited studio space. And even though I was meeting new, fascinating people all the time, I missed MY people. I missed having binge-Netflix-on-the-couch and fart-openly-without-embarrassment friends. Added to that feeling was the fatigue of always traveling to a new place every month, never feeling truly settled in a home, learning new languages and establishing a routine somewhere, only to have it all change a few weeks later.

I no longer wanted to see any churches or museums. I couldn’t afford to go on any weekend trips. And I was sick of the small European town I was living in- scratch that- all small European towns.

I was still making art, which I guess could be called a win, but I felt like I was doing so in a vacuum. Who was even going to see it or care? Maybe it’s stupid and this whole premise of traveling and art-making was misguided. I continued to spiral.

Problem was, I was less than half-way through the trip that I had spent so much time and money organizing. My inner-Carrie Bradshaw couldn’t help but wonder, what the fuck am I supposed to do now? I actually started fantasizing about returning to a 9–5 desk job as an Executive Assistant just to regain some stability in my life.

Rather than give up, in part because I am too stingy to cancel a bunch of non-refundable flights, I decided in this new phase of my nomadic adventure, I would need to make a conscious effort to stay curious and open.

First, I needed to remind myself that where I was and what I was doing didn’t come with a template. After joining a bunch of Facebook groups for solo female travelers and reading books by women who have struck out on their own adventures, I realized that no one is the expert. The part of me that wanted to do it ‘the right way,’ needed to make like Cheryl Strayed and take a long hike.

Second, I had to keep in mind that this trip had an expiration date, and so did my life as a nomad. (Not to mention my life on this planet and who knows when that is.) I decided that I wanted to look back on this trip and not have regrets about wishing my time away because I couldn’t see the bigger picture. After all, while constant traveling was starting to feel normal to me and all European cities were starting to look the same, it was not and they are not.

Finally, I asked myself what I wanted to get out of the experience and how best to make that happen. I made a list of my goals for the remainder of my time (drawings, paintings, book proposal, karaoke) and pictured how I wanted to feel (connected, grateful, abundant). I then thought about my resources, big and small, that I could leverage. What would I do if I felt I had enough right now to make it work, at least for the short term?

That week, as I doubled down my quest to answer this question, I was inspired by the scene in the Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody where Freddy Mercury convinces the band to sell their van to get enough money to record an album. I was raised by a musician for whom people like Freddy was a role model, so this anecdote was all the permission I needed to sell my Bitcoin (at a loss) and cash out some of my 401k (please don’t tell Suzy Orman).

I want to add that I consulted with my financial planner (who is really great) before pulling from my savings. While we agreed it made economic sense to use it in part to pay down some high-interest debt (sexy), it still felt weird to break one of the cardinal rules of personal finance. However, after sitting with this feeling of transgression for a couple of days, I felt empowered. If I could break that rule without the world ending, what other boxes could I bust out of?

As part of the deal I made with myself in exchange for being financially reckless, was that I set myself some clear goals for my studio practice and my business to accomplish before I returned back to the US in August. After all, Freddy Mercury wouldn’t have sold his van only to spend it on gelato and kayaking tours.

Because oversharing seems to be what bloggers do, here is a bullet point list of my semi-revised goals for the last 2/3 of my trip:

A finished book proposal for the book I want to write about my travels, along with the first three to four chapters

Three large paintings (since changed to two works on canvas and one mural)

10 drawings from the sauna series that I started in Iceland

Start a new series of drawings at my residency in Portugal

Get at least one new client a month for my digital marketing business

Publish at least one travel writing article in a publication that is not my own

Create new content for Artists + Travel

Since then I am happy to say that I have written one and a half drafts of the book proposal, gotten new work as a travel writer for two different publications, connected with two new marketing clients and have continued my series of drawings and paintings.

While making progress on the goals has helped me to stay focused and feel more grounded while everything else is constantly shifting, my objectives are not set in stone. I see the risks I am taking and the work I am putting in, wherever it goes, as gifts to my future self who will look back and be proud that I didn’t waste this time worrying and not being open to the unexpected.