Why Quitting Your Job To Travel The World Actually Kinda Sucks

It’s not all bikini pics and hiking selfies.

- Kiera Carter

I’ve always had fantasies about living abroad. I pictured myself in dreamy scenarios—drinking my morning coffee on houseboats, buying exotic groceries at open-air markets, discussing philosophy with painfully stylish French friends at Parisian bistros. (Never mind that I don’t speak French, and have zero hot takes related to existentialism.)

After years of dreaming about leaving my full-time magazine job behind for a life of red wine and romantic languages, I decided to do it. I knew it would never be easier: I had no kids, no mortgage, and an already freelance husband.

So last April, we packed everything we owned into a 10- by 15-foot storage unit in New York, and hopped on a flight to Buenos Aires, land of Malbec, dulce de leche, and asado. The plan: stay for three months, return to the US for a wedding, then hightail it to southeast Asia for the next leg of our trip. Then, who knows?! Maybe Sweden. Maybe Africa. Maybe I’d become the kind of person who wistfully refers to herself as a citizen of the world!