Being a traveler—and now an aspiring travel blogger—comes with a strange little challenge I didn’t really think about when I started documenting my adventures:
Sometimes it’s hard to know your audience.
Travel has become a pretty important part of my life. I enjoy getting on a plane, boarding a ship, loading up the truck, or simply pointing myself toward somewhere I haven’t been before. I like seeing new places, trying new food, taking way too many photos, and collecting stories along the way.
Naturally, when I get back, I want to talk about those experiences.
But I’ve learned that sometimes you have to read the room.
At work especially, I occasionally find myself holding back when someone asks what I did over the weekend or where I’m going next. Not because I’m embarrassed about traveling, but because I’ve become increasingly aware that everyone’s circumstances are different.
Travel costs money.
It takes time.
It requires flexibility.
And depending on someone’s life, those three things might be in very short supply.
Some people have children and family obligations. Some are caring for parents. Some are paying down debt, trying to buy a house, or simply trying to make it from one paycheck to the next. Some people have plenty of money but almost no vacation time. Others have the time but not the money.
And some people simply don’t care about traveling.
That’s perfectly fine too.
So when I’m enthusiastically explaining some ridiculous adventure involving a canceled flight, a cruise ship, a train through Alaska, floating down a river, or wandering around another country with a camera around my neck, I have to remember that the person listening might not hear the story the same way I’m telling it.
I’m thinking:
“You wouldn’t believe what happened!”
They might be thinking:
“Oh good, another story about Garrick’s latest vacation.”
There’s a fine line between sharing something you’re excited about and sounding like you’re constantly bragging about your “great carefree life.”
And for the record, my life isn’t completely carefree.
You just don’t take many pictures of emails, meetings, spreadsheets, bills, laundry, grocery shopping, stress, exhaustion, or sitting on the couch wondering why you agreed to go back to work Monday morning.
Those things don’t exactly make the travel blog.
The Highlight-Reel Problem
Travel blogging makes this even more complicated because, by definition, I’m creating a highlight reel.
You’re going to see the beautiful water.
You’re going to see the mountains.
You’re going to see the sunset.
You’re going to see the margarita.
You’re probably not going to see me staring at my bank account afterward thinking, Well, I guess we’re eating what’s already in the freezer this week.
Social media and blogs have a funny way of making someone’s life look effortless because we’re usually documenting the interesting parts.
A four-day trip might produce months of photos and stories.
What you don’t see are all the ordinary Tuesdays between those adventures.
You don’t necessarily see the months spent watching airfare, rearranging schedules, saving money, researching hotels, comparing prices, or deciding which things I’m willing to spend money on and which things I’m perfectly happy skipping.
You see the adventure.
You don’t always see what made the adventure possible.
There’s More to the Story
There’s another part of my supposed “carefree life” that doesn’t make it into many travel photos.
Besides a chaotic work schedule and whatever trip or adventure I’m chasing next, most days end pretty simply.
I go home to my modest condo.
And most nights, I spend that time in solitude.
There isn’t some glamorous social life happening between trips that I’m conveniently leaving off Instagram. There aren’t endless dinner parties, packed social calendars, or some perfect relationship waiting for me when I get home from the airport.
Usually, it’s just me.
And that’s an important part of the story too.
Because behind every person whose life looks “outrageous” from the outside, there’s probably a much more complicated reality.
There are areas of life where I’ve done pretty well. I’ve learned how to navigate a professional career. I understand numbers, budgets, and money management. Give me a complicated work problem and I’ll probably find a way through it.
Interpersonal relationships?
Especially the dynamics of being a couple?
You might as well hand me instructions written in hieroglyphics.
I’ve never quite figured that part out.
Maybe that’s part of why traveling fits me so well. Solo travel doesn’t require me to wait for someone else’s schedule. I don’t have to negotiate where we’re eating, what we’re doing next, whether we’re waking up at 6:00 a.m., or why I suddenly decided that walking three miles across a city because I saw something interesting in the distance was a perfectly reasonable idea.
There’s freedom in that.
But freedom and solitude can look remarkably similar depending on which direction you’re looking from.
That doesn’t make either one necessarily good or bad. It’s simply part of my life that doesn’t fit neatly into a photograph of a beach, mountain, cruise ship, or European city.
So when someone sees my travels and thinks I have this amazing carefree existence, I understand why.
They’re seeing the part I’ve chosen to share.
But they’re still only seeing part of the story.
So I Started Letting People Choose
Eventually, I came up with a pretty simple solution.
I stopped feeling like I needed to tell everyone about every adventure.
Instead, I’ve mostly resorted to posting my travels on Instagram or here on Maybe A Weekend.
At that point, the choice belongs to you.
If you follow me on Instagram and want to scroll through the photos, awesome.
If you see a new post on Maybe A Weekend and want to spend a few minutes reading about whatever adventure I got myself into this time, even better.
But you’re choosing to be there.
You’re choosing to click.
You’re choosing to read.
You’re choosing to follow along.
And strangely, that makes me feel much more comfortable sharing the stories.
I’m not standing in someone’s office forcing them to listen to twenty minutes about the color of the water in Bermuda when they’re just trying to finish their work and go home.
I’m putting the story somewhere for the people who actually want to hear it.
If you’re interested, come along.
If you’re not, keep scrolling.
No hard feelings.
There’s something freeing about that. I don’t have to suppress my excitement about the things I’ve experienced, but I also don’t have to assume everyone around me wants to hear about them.
The internet gets plenty of criticism—and usually deservedly so—but I actually appreciate that little bit of control it gives both sides.
I get to tell my stories.
You get to decide whether you want to hear them.
Checking My Privilege Without Apologizing for My Life
I’ve struggled a little with how to approach this.
Part of me feels like I need to check my privilege.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I have opportunities that I didn’t always have. I have more financial flexibility than I did when I was younger. I don’t have children. I can occasionally look at a weekend on the calendar and think, You know what? I could go somewhere.
I recognize that’s a privilege.
But I’ve also realized that recognizing privilege doesn’t mean I need to feel guilty every time I enjoy my life.
Everyone makes choices based on the life they’ve been given, the responsibilities they carry, and the things that bring them happiness.
Travel happens to be one of mine.
Maybe part of that is because when so much of my everyday life is work followed by solitude, travel gives me something completely different. It puts me somewhere unfamiliar. It forces me out of my routine. It gives me something to photograph, somewhere to wander, and occasionally someone new to talk to.
For a little while, the world feels bigger.
The goal shouldn’t be to make myself smaller because someone else has different circumstances.
The goal should be gratitude.
I’m fortunate that I can travel.
I’m fortunate that I can take photographs.
I’m fortunate that I’ve reached a point where I can occasionally turn an ordinary weekend into an adventure.
And because none of that is guaranteed forever, I intend to appreciate it while I can.
Maybe That’s Who This Blog Is For
That brings me back to the original problem:
Who exactly is my audience?
I’m still figuring that out.
Maybe this blog isn’t for someone who wants luxury travel guides or perfectly optimized itineraries.
Maybe it isn’t for someone who wants every vacation planned six months in advance with every restaurant reservation carefully scheduled.
Maybe it’s for the person sitting at work on Wednesday afternoon thinking:
I need to get the hell out of here for a couple days.
Maybe it’s also for the person who doesn’t have a built-in travel partner.
The person who has spent too much time waiting for schedules to align, relationships to materialize, or someone else to finally say, Yeah, let’s go.
At some point, you can either keep waiting or start going.
I started going.
Sometimes it’s a cruise.
Sometimes it’s another country.
Sometimes it’s a cheap flight because a flight alert was too good to ignore.
Sometimes it’s throwing camping gear in the truck and heading toward the mountains.
Sometimes it’s driving somewhere I’ve been dozens of times because I want to experience it again.
And sometimes it’s doing absolutely nothing because even adventure needs a day off.
That’s really the idea behind Maybe A Weekend.
I’m not trying to convince anyone that my life is better because I travel.
It isn’t better.
It’s just mine.
I’m definitely not trying to keep score.
I’m simply documenting the places I’ve been, the mistakes I’ve made, the things I’ve learned, and the ridiculous stories I’ve accumulated along the way.
Maybe the photographs show someone living an outrageous travel life.
Maybe the reality is a little less glamorous: a guy who works too much, goes home to a quiet condo, hasn’t figured out relationships, and occasionally looks at a calendar and decides the best solution is to pack a bag and disappear somewhere for a few days.
Both versions are true.
If those stories inspire someone to take their own trip, great.
If they help someone realize they don’t have to wait for someone else to start exploring, even better.
If someone just enjoys reading them from their couch while having absolutely no desire to go anywhere, that’s fine too.
And if travel stories aren’t your thing?
No hard feelings.
That’s the beauty of putting them here.
You don’t have to read them.
But if you clicked on this post and somehow made it all the way down here?
Well…
You brought this upon yourself.
