There’s something that happens when you leave your city. It’s not just the change of streets, language or weather. It’s something else. Like the noise suddenly fades. Like no one knows who you are… and instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels kind of peaceful. Travel has that immediate sense of freedom. No one knows you. […]
There’s something that happens when you leave your city.
It’s not just the change of streets, language or weather. It’s something else. Like the noise suddenly fades. Like no one knows who you are… and instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels kind of peaceful.
Travel has that immediate sense of freedom. No one knows you. No one expects anything from you. There are no previous versions of yourself to hold onto, no context to explain. You can be different… or simply stop thinking about it so much.
And that’s where the question comes in: are you more yourself when you’re away… or do you just feel freer because no one’s watching?
Within the queer community, this hits a bit deeper. Growing up often means learning how to read the room, how to adapt, how much to show and how much to hold back. A kind of internal radar that rarely fully switches off.
But when you travel, that radar softens.
Suddenly you don’t have to anticipate everything. You can meet someone, talk without overthinking how you’re being perceived. Improvise, mess up, be desired… or not, and still be fine. There’s something very honest about that.
But there’s also an uncomfortable side to it.
Sometimes that “freer” version of you only exists in that context. In that anonymity. And then another question shows up: if you like that version of yourself more… why isn’t it part of your everyday life too?
Maybe because it’s not that simple.
Being yourself at home comes with history. Relationships. Expectations. Places where people already think they know you. And there, it’s not just about letting go for a weekend. It’s about sustaining it.
But that doesn’t mean what happens when you travel isn’t real.
Sometimes travel doesn’t change you. It just reminds you of parts of yourself that were quieter. And, if you’re lucky, you get to bring some of that back with you.
Not everything. But something. A way of moving. A way of seeing. A way of not asking for permission all the time.
Because maybe it’s not about choosing between being yourself or being another version.
It’s about finding spaces where you don’t have to think about it so much.
Just being.