People always wonder how travel writers date. Or maybe people don’t. Either way, I’m in the mood to tell you about my love life, so buckle up.
I have been asked—as a travel writer, as a single woman, as a Gemini—“How do you find men who don’t mind that you’re gone all the time?”
I don’t have a great answer, in part because I reject the premise. I don’t tell men I’m interested in, “Look, I’m gone all the time and you’d better just deal.” I’ve always assumed that if I meet a sexy and humble dog-owner with a sharp sense of direction who knows how to make fun of me properly and thinks I look hot in my writing uniform, which is a floor-length bathrobe, I’ll just…travel less.
My identity is inextricably bound to my writing, but not to travel writing specifically. That is, I need to write, but I don’t need to travel. (If that claim gives you “I could quit anytime” vibes, that’s fair.)
