Travel is not just movement; it's stillness, presence

The world moves fast. Sometimes too fast. There’s this sense of always being one step behind, always rushing to catch up, to meet a deadline, to get to the next thing. But here? Here, in this space I’ve carved out, life slows down. Here, time lingers, stretching like golden light at the end of the day. It’s a quiet, unspoken invitation to stop and breathe. To exist in the moment, and not just race through it.

I’m Leni. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve always found myself getting lost. Not just in places, but in stories, in fleeting moments, in the quiet spaces in between. Oddly, and ironically, I’ve always gotten lost in the hopes of finding myself. It’s a funny thing, this need to wander; to both escape and discover at once.

Leni on the Road isn’t just about motion. It’s about how a place makes you feel, how a street corner, a song, or a stranger’s kindness can settle into you and linger long after you’ve left. It’s about stillness, not just movement. Presence, not just passing through. It’s about the moments you’re present for, the way they stay with you & shape you even after you’ve walked away.

Travel, for me, has never been just about moving from one place to another. It’s also about moving through time: through memories, through the people we meet, through the stories we carry. It’s easy to think that travel is all about the places you go, or the new landscapes you experience. But, somehow as I’ve accumulated the stamps on my passport (visas too) or checked off the bucket list, I’ve come to realize that it’s the stories you collect along the way that really shape the journey. Maybe that’s why I document everything I can. I still don’t fully understand it, but in some strange way, recording moments helps me travel through time and space, even when I’m sitting still. Especially when I have to be still. There’s something about capturing a moment that allows you to hold on to it, stretch it out, let it breathe, to revisit it, even long after it’s passed.

On ‘travel’ & ‘life abroad’, read more: Stories from everywhere, stories from somewhere

I’ve had my share of overhauls. I used to start things and pour my energy into them, only to stop halfway. There were moments when I felt like I was missing something, or lost momentum. But somehow, I always found my way back. And each time I returned, I came with a different approach, a new perspective. There’s something about returning to a project, to a place, to a feeling, after some time has passed. It’s like you’re both the same and completely different at the same time. And it’s that tension that keeps you coming back for more.

On ‘overhauls’, read more: Self-rediscovery back at the old-new job (2023), Renaissance (2019), Writer’s Block (2016)

When I was younger, the world felt electric - loud, colorful, full of motion. And I loved that. I still do. But now, in my 30s, I crave something different. Something quieter. More intentional. The elegance of an unrushed life. The kind of adventure that doesn’t demand to be seen or captured, but is felt in the spaces between the noise. It’s a shift, a change in pace. I find myself gravitating toward the small moments, the ones that pass unnoticed by most.

I used to think that travel was all about movement: planes, trains, crossing oceans. But I’ve learned that sometimes, travel is about sitting still. Watching a city wake up, listening to its rhythm, feeling its heartbeat, smelling the fleeting odor of alimuom (petrichor) after it rains. My favorite by far is watching the sunset. Sometimes it’s sharing a quiet moment with a stranger, exchanging nothing more than a smile, but realizing that in that brief exchange, something shifts. Sometimes, it’s writing something down and realizing that you’re no longer the same person who first picked up the pen.

On ‘calm moments’, and ‘quiet joys’, read more: Life's quiet wonders (2023), Morning’s Here (2020)

Maybe that’s why I write, talk to people, and explore. It’s not just about seeing new things; it’s about stretching time, reliving it, and holding on to it for just a little longer. When I write, I travel through time. I can visit a memory, a feeling, or a conversation and stretch it out, savoring it as it unfolds once again.

I like to think I document the in-between moments, the ones that don’t make it to postcards. The almosts. The quiet joys. The way the light hits a train window just right. The feeling of being utterly lost in a foreign city, an unfamiliar situation, only to recognize yourself in the reflection of a café window. It’s not always about what you do, but how you feel while you’re doing it. That’s what I want to remember.

On the ‘almosts & in-betweens’, read more: In response to adulting (2020), Changes (2017), Adulting (2016)

I don’t need things to be perfect …anymore. I don’t need everything to make sense all the time. Now, all I need is for it to mean something to me. All I need is for it to feel something.

Somewhere along the way, I adopted a minimalist mindset when I realized that having less lets me experience more. I don’t need to have everything figured out. I don’t need a grand plan. I don’t need to be constantly moving or constantly producing. My favorite learning by far is that solitude isn’t the same as loneliness, and sometimes, less noise makes room for more depth. I’ve learned to be my best companion and embrace my alone time (read: Why and how I learned to be my best companion, 2023). I’ve learned that the best stories aren’t always the ones you plan for. They come to you when you’re open to them when you’re willing to slow down and let them unfold at their own pace.

On being ‘minimalist’, read more: Becoming Minimalist (2020), Less Clutter, Less Waste (2018), Why and how I embraced the minimalist lifestyle (2017)

And now? I no longer have a bucket list or a set destination. This time, I just want to see where life takes me. Here, there, somewhere, everywhere, and even from nowhere. I’ve stopped looking for a place to arrive. Instead, I’m more curious about where the journey will go, wherever it may lead (read: Soft & Flow, 2025).

When the world ever feels like it’s moving too fast, whenever I wonder when the perfect moment is to start, maybe this is it. Now. Here. Maybe we take the long way home. We don’t have to race to the finish line. We can savor the journey.

Come along if you’d like. No rush. No pressure. Just stories, slow travel, and life as it unfolds.