I SPENT A YEAR TRAVELING THE WORLD WITH MY BROTHER
Nope. That’s not a typo. I just spent the last 12 months traveling the world with none other than my “little” brother, Ethan — who is a mere 11 months younger (and about 10 inches taller) than me.
And in sharing this with fellow travelers, friends, and family — the conversation went something like this:
“You’re BROTHER?! I could never do that with mine.”
“Don’t you want to kill each other?”
“That’s so crazy I don’t even get along with my siblings”
“Is it ever weird?”
“So who’s in charge?”
“I’ve never seen siblings traveling together. Especially a brother and sister.”
“I hate my sister, I could NEVER travel with her!”
“Wait, that’s kinda cool!”
“THAT’S SO F*CKING CUTE!”
“That’s really special, wow…”
I know, it’s unusual. But here’s what happened:
I always dreamt of living and working abroad. This dream sharpened when almost half of my college career was spent in COVID lockdown and the fallout thereafter. I felt like I had lost some of the most formative years of self-development and exploration. And like many of you, the shifts that ensued across our lives and the planet forced me to reflect on and reprioritize my goals and dreams.
As I toyed with the idea of moving away, I went back to high school economics and asked myself: is this a rational decision? Given a rational decision is defined as “a choice made by an individual that maximizes their utility (satisfaction) or profit, given the information they have and the constraints they face (like budget, time, or resources),” the answer became clear. I would never regret taking this opportunity to experience the world. Whatever challenges that would come would be worth it, because this was my one-in-a-million chance.
After two years of working and saving, I committed to leaving my perfectly good job in Tech Marketing to go to Australia with no job or highly structured plan — a shock for a historically Type A gal.
And in a twist of fate, Ethan’s corporate job offer was rescinded two weeks before he was due to start his career. Suddenly, my one-in-a-million chance became two.
A note on privilege
I can’t continue to tell this story without acknowledging the layers of privilege that made this possible. To even consider quitting your job to travel is a gift most will never have. Having savings, a supportive family, passports that allow easy movement, and the freedom to take risks without life-altering consequences stacked the odds in our favor from the start.
This made me more determined to say yes. If the hardest part — access and opportunity — were already handed to me, the least I could do was to step fully into the experience. I felt that sometimes the best way to honor privilege is not to ignore it, but to live with intention because of it.
A year down under
In September 2024, we left Atlanta with nothing more than a couple bags, a couple years of savings, and the hope of creating some semblance of a life down under. Within three days of walking door-to-door with paper resumes in hand, we both landed jobs as waiters at a restaurant on Sydney Harbour.
Hospitality was a crash course in communication, problem-solving, and adaptability. I learned to more confidently carry myself in live settings, juggle personalities (and accents) from all over the world, and multitask under pressure. Plus, I learned to carry several plates and a tray of drinks. And yes, I did drop a couple. ;)
Our Sydney summer was full of long shifts, new friends, beach days, and figuring out who we were without the structure of a traditional American lifestyle.
When it came time to consider our next step, we debated:
- Work on a rural farm to extend our visas, or
- Make the most of what time we had left in Australia and go home when our visas expired
With the Working Holiday Visa job market extremely over-saturated, we chose the latter. Through a work-exchange platform, we landed two placements on Keppel Island — a tiny island of just twelve residents at the southern end of the Great Barrier Reef.
Keppel Island was one of the most special times of our year. Mornings were spent landscaping and doing manual labor tasks; afternoons, exploring the raw, untouched beauty of the island; evenings, trading stories with our hosts who quickly became friends. It was one of those rare times where life felt stripped back to something simple and essential.
It was on Keppel that I turned to Ethan one morning and asked:
“What if we just went to Asia?”
And that’s how the second half of our year began.
The second half of the year
After Keppel, the pace of life picked up. Ethan and I set out across Southeast Asia — island-hopping through the Philippines, training Muay Thai in Thailand, and riding three days through northern Vietnam on the back of a motorcycle. Each place carried its own rhythm, its own lesson (and its own currency, which made budgeting extra tricky).
From there, we reunited with our family in Indonesia. Having everyone together for even part of the journey was a gift — rare, grounding, and so much fun. Travel has always been central to my family, shaping me into who I am, and it’s the reason I was so set on making this year happen.
Ethan and I carried on to Japan, and that’s where our chapter together closed. After nearly a year side by side — through hostels, jobs, new cities, and countless adventures — I said goodbye to him in the Kyoto train station. Separating was more emotional than I expected. We had worked so hard to make this dream real, and suddenly it was behind us, zipping by faster than I could process. It marked the end of a transformational chapter and the start of our individual journeys forward.
From there, I flew to Greece to reunite with a college friend, and then to France for one of the most important parts of my year: retracing my grandmother’s steps during the Holocaust. Her name is Ruth Kapp Hartz. She survived as a hidden child in France during World War II, a story she later told in her memoir Your Name is Renée. Her book has since been adapted into a play, excerpts of which were being performed in the town that rescued her, Albi. Standing in the exact place where she once hid — side by side with her, one of my sisters, and the family who risked their lives to protect hers — was surreal. What I had only known as words on a page, I now felt in my body. Her survival wasn’t just history; it was the reason I could stand there at all.
The weight of that experience is too big for this short reflection. But after months of living on my terms and gathering experiences like infinity stones, it grounded me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. It reminded me that while travel can be full of beaches and backpacks, it can also collapse time, connect generations, and change the way you carry your own story.
What travelling with my brother taught me
Siblings are the only people you really have for the vast majority of your life — if you’re lucky. They’re among the few who will know the whole of you. They humble you and cheer you on. They ground you when you’re floating away and dig you out when you’re stuck.
I’m lucky to have not only Ethan, but also my older sisters, Sam and Jess. We’re 24, 25, 26, and 28. I know — crazy. No, crazy lucky. Even though I didn’t get to spend this year away with all of them, I’m deeply grateful for the meaningful, supportive relationships I have with all three of my siblings. Again, how lucky am I?
This year reminded me of the power of family — when nurtured, it’s a stabilizing and empowering force, something we need more than ever in a world full of challenge and uncertainty. Traveling as siblings demanded patience, teamwork, and forgiveness on a daily basis. And the gift is, I know those lessons will last long after the trip.
Lessons learned
In our 20s, we’re told to chase the new: new cities, new jobs, new partners, new clothes. We value work experience over life experience, but still expect people to be good communicators and leaders. We value individuality and self-interest, but demand adaptability and teamwork. We value material goods over meaning, but are continually unfulfilled purchase after purchase. We value automation and efficiency over humanity, but expect creativity, empathy, and “comfort with ambiguity.” We value “getting rich” over being good global citizens — but this year, I’ve experienced several kinds of “rich:” rich in knowledge, rich in language, rich in community, rich in nature, rich in freedom, rich in health.
My travels have shown me different kinds of success and different ways to achieve that success. I’ve learned that adaptability, humility, communication, and resilience — the top four descriptors on nearly every job listing — aren’t things you pick up in a classroom or behind a desk. They’re learned in the unglamorous, human moments: when your train is canceled, when you rely on strangers’ kindness to find your way, when you’re soaking wet from the rain but still laughing, when you share a tiny room with your brother and several strangers and somehow make it work.
I know re-entering the working world means stepping back into systems and expectations that don’t always reflect these lessons. But I also know I’ll carry them with me — grounding myself in what truly matters while navigating the reality of what the world demands.
The world is unpredictable and humbling — but it’s also deeply generous if you let it be.
And siblings? They just might be the best travel partners you’ll ever have.
