Typically, by mid-October, I would have decked out our front porch with pumpkins and floating candles, but we’ve been busy with birthday parties, doctor’s appointments, and weddings—how life goes some seasons. I hope you’re embracing the spooky spirit wherever you are.
Most weeks, I aim to bring you tactical content—news you can use, if you will. How to pack a carry-on and backpack for 10 days, the dos and don’ts of rental car insurance, how to rack up 175,000 points for your favorite airline.
Today, I’m sharing something personal that’s been looming large in my mind over the last few months. It is a sensitive topic, but one I’m okay being vulnerable about, so I hope you’ll give it a read. That said, I’m not looking for advice; this is my journey to sort through.
A big part of Departure is our community, though, and I’m eager to hear your stories and experiences surrounding parenthood and travel, if you feel open to sharing. (Plus, there are myriad reasons one might not be able to travel apart from the parenthood conundrum—financial constraints, injury and illness, caretaking.) Regardless, I hope you find this essay worth the time.
CW: This post involves mentions of parenthood, fertility, and pregnancy.
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As a child, my mother would tell me, “You can have most things, but not everything.” She didn’t mean materially; she meant that 80% of your life could be wonderful—your marriage, your family, your health—but you might struggle with the last 20%, perhaps your career or your network. The circumstances of your life will never add up to 100% perfection. Though she wasn’t speaking about being a woman specifically, it was akin to the oft-repeated phrase, “Women can’t have it all.”
As the textbook high-achieving eldest daughter, I had come to believe I could in fact have it all, if I just tried hard enough. I could inch toward the totality of a wonderful life.
Now in my mid-30s, my mother’s words ring true for a different reason—one I didn’t really expect. The majority of my close friends who’ve wanted children have had them by now, while others remain emphatically childfree. Everyone seems to have firmly made their decision.
Me…not so much. Travel is a big reason why.
Some friends feel as though they were destined to be parents; others sensed their biological clocks ticking away and decided to move forward, despite their ambivalence. I always thought I would be a parent, but I didn’t necessarily feel called to it—“mother” would be part of my identity, but not my core label. If you told me I couldn’t have any children, I would be devastated. But while there is a semblance of compulsion, there isn’t urgency.
In my teenage years, I told myself I wanted four kids. By the time I met my husband, I said maybe two or three, given the financial investment. Today, I think I’d be happy with one, maybe two. It feels like a substantial part of the life I want, though not necessarily any more substantial than my career or love of travel.
But when your career and love of travel begin to merge—the messy blurring of two formerly separate identities—therein lies a newer, more tender tension in choosing to expand your family, particularly for women.
I’m 35, entering the antiquated era of “geriatric pregnancy” (though more and more women are choosing to have children later in life), and my chronic health conditions make it more or less mandatory to move forward sooner rather than later. By saying yes to that metaphorical journey, though, I would have to turn down many other literal ones, at a time when Departure seems to be growing. Setting pregnancy aside, my body has its own say in how I move through the world. Sometimes, the shift from literal travel to armchair travel isn’t a choice—it’s a limit I have to plan around. The idea of not traveling for months at a time, even if pregnancy is a worthwhile reason, feels overwhelmingly sad.
When my husband and I froze our embryos at the end of 2025, we told ourselves we’d wait until mid-summer or early fall and then take the next step. I planned a big solo trip designed as one last hurrah before parenthood, and we front-loaded our vacations with the agreement that the second half of the year would be family-focused.
Then, in the middle of the summer, I discovered that my lower limb pain may be related to vein issues. I sought treatment, and doctors told me that delaying pregnancy until these procedures were done would be best. So we kicked the can down the road, holding back on any major travel plans. (Good news: The treatment has so far worked, though it doesn’t change the clock.)
Now I sit at a friction point, up against conflicting priorities: Do I pursue the momentum Departure has—and by proxy, my love of travel—and risk waiting? Or do I forge ahead with an intentional long pause, knowing my life on the other side might be completely different—perhaps even lacking two other priorities that presently give me so much purpose? To be sure, this is a conundrum many women have faced (maybe not about travel writing, per se), but the tensions between growing your career and growing your family are increasingly common.
Around this time of year, I sometimes start to envision myself with a baby dressed up for Halloween, or caressing a small bump, posing in front of a decorated tree. Every so often, I daydream of the new holiday rituals my husband and I would create with a renewed joy around Thanksgiving and Christmas. I see us traveling with a child in tow, watching as they experience the world for the first time. Then I remember these are all ideals—there is no such promise of that future, only a hopeful wishing.
When I hear of a spooky tour around Transylvania or the opportunity to join a Rwandan safari, my ears perk up. I lazily dream of visiting San Miguel de Allende with friends, or trying a short stint in London with my husband. I bubble with excitement at the idea of landing another big interview or partnership. These, too, are ideals, not guarantees for what lies ahead.
In both scenarios, there’s so much to hope for—and to worry about. So when presented with momentum in two divergent directions, the tension feels tauter than ever: How do you choose?
It is easy enough to tell myself that I can tackle all three: I can transfer an embryo and pursue travel writing while working full-time—and if and when I move along in pregnancy, I can pause where needed. I can hit the road again when we’re ready, now as a family of three. I can find joy in my family and my home when travel feels infeasible; I’m a homebody after all.
It’s also easy enough to tell myself that a pause doesn’t have to mean a full stop.
The reality, especially with chronic illness and in my later 30s, will likely look different. It could be fraught with complications, a longer delay than intended, or even regret, missing the life I used to have. Friends who used to travel the globe now candidly tell me how much more complicated and difficult it is to hop on the road, or that they give so much of themselves between work and parenthood that the thought of traveling fades away entirely.
There is no magic ball that will give me a crystal clear picture of our future.
What I do have, though, is the past. Memories with my parents exploring the caverns of the Grand Canyon, building sandcastles on the beach off the Atlantic City boardwalk, sitting in the backseat silently in awe of forest green trees on our way up to Niagara Falls. I’ve never asked my mom how she did it while having two kids one year apart, working full-time, and taking care of her in-laws, though I’m sure she’d admit it was a hurdle. Yet those moments have deeply shaped not just our time together, but also who I am today. She had me at 38.
Sometimes, sitting with this makes me feel claustrophobic, like these life choices are closing in on me. But after typing all of this out, I also feel…free. There is no right answer, it’s not all-or-nothing, and my life will expand and mold over time. My priorities might shift away from travel writing at large, but in my gut, I know my passion for seeing the world and pursuing an ambitious career will remain, whatever my family looks like. I know this because I’ve seen it modeled for me.
I won’t ever be able to hit 100%—my mom assured me that much is true—but maybe I can get to 95%. And that’s pretty damn close.
👡 My all-time favorite shoes are 25% off through 10/19. I own two pairs and wear them every single day at home and when traveling, so much so that my friends poke fun at me.
💳 Q4 means new quarterly credits for my fellow AmEx Platinum holders: $100 Resy credit and $75 at lululemon. Here’s what I’d recommend from lululemon as the seasons change.
📚 Ordered a few books I’ve been itching to read, taking advantage of Bookshop.org’s Anti-Prime Day free shipping: Under Story by Chloe Benjamin, The Disappearers by Marlon James (being touted as the “novel of the century!”), Music Against the Night by Yiyun Li (out this week and Ann Patchett’s favorite book of the year), Switzy by Emma Cline, and The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett. I’d love to know what you’re reading! And, if you want to get some books of your own, here’s a link for 20% off.
❤️🔥 How Indigenous communities are reclaiming the travel experience—and how their stories should be told. (Nat Geo)
🍂 Finally:
See you next week! —Henah x
