I was the first in my family to travel: This experience came with a sense of purpose, guilt, and wonder

Travel is presented as inherently selfish: a wanderlust telling you to momentarily abandon home, routine, friends, and family. And no one warns you that, when you’re the first in your family to travel, it comes preloaded with daunting responsibility, privilege and strangely enough, guilt. I backpacked Europe for nine months and I was not prepared for the emotional rollercoaster this would take me on. This is the story of how being the first of my family to travel – and in doing so, breaking this ceiling for them – impacted me. 

The birth of a dream

My parents sacrificed their travel opportunities, both time and funds, to raise a family but this didn’t stop them instilling me with a desire to travel from a young age. National Geographic magazines filled my bookshelves, and Planet Earth shows played on the TV. I worked multiple jobs as a teen but I never found something that suited me. Feeling stunted in my tiny country town, I quit my current job and, unsure of my future, I decided to travel. 

The opportunity to backpack Europe came up via a cheap flight to Germany and it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to go. I felt like I could repay my parents by travelling the world and virtually taking them with me. I also wanted to show my little siblings that there was a world out there beyond the sheep, cattle and kangaroos of the family farm. 

Preparing for departure

While planning my travels, I realised this trip was going to be more than a gap year. As I jotted down destinations and booked flights, behind me stood the ghosts of my siblings, my parents and my grandparents, who never made it out of their hometown. I wasn’t doing this for me but for them too. I felt anxious I’d screw it up, make mistakes and prove travelling wasn’t the right thing to do. 

I planned my trip at our family table, jotting down “Berlin, Budapest, London etc…” surrounded by excited little siblings. Mum cried a little. Dad said he wished he’d done the same at my age. The bucket list got longer. I didn’t plan out too much of my trip, instead writing “ADVENTURE” at the top of my lists and hoping Fate would fill in the blanks. And it did.

In foreign lands

36 hours after leaving home, my flight touched down in Germany – what better way to begin an adventure than Oktoberfest? I was so nervous that first day, walking into my hostel alone but by the end of the night I had more new friends than I could ask for. And over the next few days, we celebrated Oktoberfest together with lively music and traditional attire, our dancing helped by countless beer steins. 

The adventure continued through the rest of Europe and beyond as I surfed in Morocco, hitchhiked through Montenegro and Albania, partied on riverboats in Bucharest, ate roasted song thrush in Ayia Napa, and watched the northern lights in Lapland. I met unforgettable people, witnessed jaw dropping natural sights, and ate enough street food to last me a lifetime. And through it all, the excitement of my little siblings everytime we video called kept me going. Their enthusiastic questions and big eyes as I described the countries I was visiting made me appreciate what an opportunity I had. Wherever I went, I sent photos and videos back, of food, animals, landscapes and friends. I wanted to reassure my family that this was everything I and they had dreamed of.

I won’t lie, I cried a lot during my trip. Homesick, lonely and guilty tears. Every time something didn’t go to plan, I felt like I wasn’t doing good enough. When I had a down day or got sick, I felt like I was wasting this opportunity. That everyone at home was relying on me to do something they couldn’t and that I was screwing it up. 

This wasn’t true of course, but it’s amazing what an exhausted, hungover, brain will tell you. But one thing kept me going, those cheering me on back home. Without the support of my family, I don’t think I could’ve done it. From the late night phone calls to endless streams of selfies, their constant support and the reassurance that I had a landing pad should I fail, enabled me to spread my wings. 

The return of the prodigal

Eight months later, I boarded one final flight in Athens, one that would finally take me home. It was over. I’d done it. I’d made it halfway around the world and back. I’d gone places I’d only dreamt about, made unforgettable memories. But through it all was the sense of pride and privilege and excitement to have shared this achievement with the people I love most in the world. Good or bad, screwed up or perfect, the ceiling was broken. I was home again.

Travel altered my perspective on the world and my place in it. It taught me that new experiences can look like international flights and desert sunrises but it can also look like navigating foreign laundromats and supermarkets. It taught me courage and kindness again and again. But most importantly, it let me pave the way for my family to dream big and explore beyond the dust and gumtrees. Travel, far from being a selfish pursuit, has been an act of love, bridging the gap between dreams and reality for those I hold dear.

And two months later, the travel debrief is still ongoing. My brother and I are planning a trip to New Zealand. My sister wants to meet the cats in Montenegro. My parents would love to see Ireland. I feel happy I’ve been able to at least encourage them. Hopefully my siblings will spread their wings and be able to do the same. And now, with my family’s newfound enthusiasm for travel, I’m looking forward to the day when we can all embark on an adventure together, knowing that the first step has already been taken.