There’s something different about returning to a place that has already left its mark on you.
The first time, everything is unfamiliar. You’re figuring out where to go, what to eat, how to get around, and whether the person enthusiastically waving you toward a taxi is offering assistance or a rather expensive introduction to the local transportation system.
The next time, you arrive with a little more confidence. You know how to navigate the chaos, or at least you’ve become considerably more comfortable being confused by it.
But there’s another interesting part about returning somewhere after a few years.
You’re not quite the same person who left.
In April 2023, I found myself back in Africa, beginning a journey through Morocco that would eventually carry me south toward Mauritania and Senegal. I’d visited the continent several times before, including experiences in Southern and Eastern Africa that had shaped much of my curiosity about the world.
Still, I’d never traveled this particular route, and I was excited to see what waited beyond the familiar destinations and well-organized itineraries.
I wasn’t particularly interested in racing from one attraction to another. I wanted to move slowly enough to get lost occasionally, meet people along the way, and spend time in places that might not have made much sense to someone looking at my itinerary.
Which, fortunately, wasn’t much of an itinerary to begin with.
Back to the beginning
I landed in Casablanca and gradually worked my way through Morocco. Fes, Chefchaouen, the winding roads south, and eventually the Sahara.
The country was an extraordinary introduction to being back on the continent. Bustling medinas, long shared meals, winding streets, and the familiar feeling of having several people offer you completely different directions to exactly the same place.
Some days unfolded beautifully. Others involved missed connections, unexpected changes, and a great deal of improvisation.
Both were part of the experience.
I found myself remembering why I’d fallen in love with traveling in the first place. Not necessarily the spectacular landscapes or famous landmarks, although Morocco has no shortage of either, but the constant interruptions to the way I’d ordinarily move through a day.
When you’re somewhere unfamiliar, the smallest details become interesting. How people gather over food. The pace of a conversation. A crowded street that somehow operates according to a system everyone seems to understand except you.
You start paying attention to things that would barely register back home.
And I think that’s one of the greatest gifts of travel.
It reminds you how much of life you move through on autopilot.
Four ideas I kept coming back to
Over the years, I began thinking about travel through four simple principles: awareness, adaptability, appreciation, and enjoyment.
I’ll admit, written together, they sound suspiciously like something you’d find printed on a motivational poster in an airport bookstore.
But I arrived at them through experience, and I still find them useful.
Awareness means noticing what’s happening around you rather than constantly thinking about what’s next. It’s the difference between walking through a market while planning your afternoon and actually paying attention to the people, conversations, and details unfolding in front of you.
Adaptability is accepting that things won’t always go according to plan. A bus might be late, a border crossing might take longer than expected, or the place you intended to stay might not work out. You can spend the afternoon frustrated about it, or you can figure out another way forward.
Appreciation is remembering how fortunate you are to be experiencing any of it. Not in the sense that every inconvenience should become a profound spiritual lesson, but simply recognizing that being somewhere unfamiliar, learning about another culture, and meeting people whose lives look different from yours is an extraordinary opportunity.
And enjoyment is perhaps the easiest one to forget. Especially when you’re ambitious, curious, and constantly thinking about what comes next.
There’s a difference between experiencing something and turning it into another accomplishment.
I’d fallen into that trap myself. You visit a place, take the photographs, check it off the list, and immediately start thinking about the next destination.
Eventually, you realize you’re treating the world like a rather elaborate to-do list.
Morocco was a good reminder to stop doing that.
The interesting things rarely happen on schedule
As I moved through the country, I found some of the most memorable experiences happened when I allowed enough room for something unexpected.
A conversation that carried on longer than I’d intended. A meal that became an afternoon. A change of plans that introduced me to somewhere I hadn’t considered visiting.
This is why I’ve always been drawn to slow travel.
Not because every moment needs to become an exercise in cultural understanding, but because giving yourself time creates possibilities that a tightly packed itinerary doesn’t.
You begin to recognize the rhythms of a place. You return to the same café, recognize familiar faces, and gradually feel a little less like someone passing through.
You also learn a surprising amount about yourself.
Travel has an amusing way of revealing which parts of your personality are genuinely yours and which are simply products of your routine.
Remove the familiar environment, the regular schedule, and the people who know exactly who you are, and you’re left with a little more room to experiment.
Sometimes that’s wonderfully liberating.
Other times it means discovering that you’re still impatient, occasionally stubborn, and perfectly capable of becoming irritated by a minor inconvenience thousands of miles from home.
Personal growth, apparently, doesn’t come with a passport stamp.
Learning to appreciate the unfamiliar
I’d spent enough time traveling by then to know that being somewhere new doesn’t automatically make you more open-minded.
You can visit dozens of countries and still approach everything with the same assumptions you carried from home.
You can also spend a week in one place, have a few meaningful conversations, and leave with a completely different perspective.
The difference, I’ve found, often comes down to whether you’re genuinely interested in understanding people rather than simply collecting experiences.
I wanted to explore Morocco beyond its attractions. To spend time with people, understand their daily routines, eat where they ate, and learn enough of the language to make an effort.
Sometimes that curiosity led to wonderful encounters. Other times it led to confusion, uncomfortable conversations, or the realization that I knew far less than I thought.
All useful outcomes, in their own way.
And as I continued south toward Mauritania, that willingness to engage with unfamiliar places and people became an even bigger part of the journey.
What I understand a little better today
Looking back, I can see that those four principles have followed me into parts of life that have very little to do with traveling.
Today, much of my time is spent building Gevity with my wife, Espoir. The responsibilities are different, the stakes are higher, and there’s considerably less flexibility to disappear down an unfamiliar road simply because it looks interesting.
But the underlying mindset hasn’t changed all that much.
Paying attention to people. Adapting when plans fall apart. Appreciating the opportunities in front of you. Remembering to enjoy the experience rather than treating every day as something to get through on the way to a future achievement.
All surprisingly relevant when you’re trying to build something.
I’m also learning that the last principle might be the most important for me personally.
It’s easy to become so focused on progress that you forget to appreciate the life you’re living while pursuing it. There’s always another goal, another mountain, another milestone, another problem that needs solving.
And there’s nothing wrong with ambition.
I just don’t want to become so preoccupied with what I’m building that I forget to enjoy the people, experiences, and ordinary moments happening around it.
That was part of what travel taught me long before I’d ever considered starting a business.
Still curious
I don’t return from every trip having discovered some extraordinary new truth about life. Sometimes I come home tired, sunburned, mildly annoyed by an airline, and very happy to sleep in my own bed.
But there’s something about being somewhere unfamiliar that reliably brings my attention back to the present.
The world is enormous, and there are more cultures, places, stories, and perspectives than any one person could hope to experience.
I find that deeply exciting.
When I think about returning to Africa in 2023, I remember the anticipation of arriving somewhere I’d missed, the unfamiliar rhythm of Morocco, and the feeling that another adventure was beginning.
I also remember how good it felt to be curious without needing that curiosity to accomplish anything.
Three years later, that’s something I’m still trying to protect.
There will always be more to build, more to learn, and more mountains to climb.
I’d just like to enjoy a reasonable portion of the journey along the way.
