Travel Light and Trust the World

Learning to travel light in the heavy world

Picture this: A cramped train station in Tokyo. Two boys, aged 10 and 14, huffing and puffing as they drag wheeled suitcases up what feels like the hundredth flight of stairs. Sweat dripping. Arms aching. It was their brief rebellion, an experiment against our long standing rule: travel light. Meanwhile, their mum glides past them, 24-litre rucksack on her back, trying desperately not to laugh.

This wasn’t their first rodeo. These kids have been travelling since they were babies- through the chaos of Sri Lankan bus stations, bouncing along dirt roads in tuk-tuks, squeezing onto third-class trains. However, for one trip to Japan, they’d insisted on trying suitcases. “Like normal people, Mum!”

Spoiler alert: They learned their lesson. And it’s a story that perfectly captures why our family has embraced the art of travelling light for over a decade.

Travelling Light Is About Mobility, Not Deprivation

Travelling light changed everything when my children, William, was seven and Daniel was only three years old. I made a decision that seemed crazy to most parents. We were going to backpack through Sri Lanka. Not with a pram. Not with a mountain of baby gear. Just three rucksacks and a whole lot of trust in the process.

No big suitcase. No backup outfits. No “just in case” clutter.

Just what I can carry – and what I truly need.

For me, travelling light has always been about movement. It means I can walk freely. Climb stairs without dread. Jump on the back of a bike without hesitation. Weave through crowded stations. Change plans without stress.

It means I don’t think twice when someone says, “Hop on, we’ll take you there.” I don’t need to drag my life behind me on wheels.

The freedom of travel light light is intoxicating.

I’ve hopped onto motorbikes in villages, hitch-hiked, squeezed into shared vans, climbed narrow staircases in old buildings, walked long distances without resentment, because my bag doesn’t dictate my decisions.

Suddenly, we could accept spontaneous invitations from locals without worrying about where we’d stash our stuff. We could jump on packed public buses where a suitcase would have been an absolute nightmare. The mobility that comes from carrying everything on your back? It’s not just physical, it is mental freedom too.

Mobility gives you choices. Choices give you freedom. No wheeling. No dragging. No “wait, let me just get my suitcase over this cobblestone/sand/muddy path/flight of stairs.”

Just go.

The Minimalist Truth: Why Travel Light Works for Me (And My Skincare Confession!)

To travel light wasn’t difficult for me, and here’s where I need to come clean. I’m not even slightly embarrassed about it.

I don’t wear a bra. There, I said it. The whole internet knows now.

Honestly? I’m proud of it. That’s one less bulky item taking up precious rucksack real estate. One less thing to wash in hotel sinks. One less constraint when hiking through humid jungles or climbing temple steps.

And while we’re oversharing, let me add. I don’t wear makeup either. Well, maybe the occasional lipstick and mascara when I’m feeling fancy, but that’s it. No makeup kit the size of a small suitcase. No army of brushes and palettes and mysterious creams.

My skincare routine? I wash my face with shampoo.

Yes, you read that right. At 51, I feel good, my skin is fine, and despite everyone telling me I “ought to use sunscreen,” I’m not losing sleep over it.

The point is, travelling light wasn’t a challenge for me because I’d already stripped away so much of what society tells us we “need.” When you embrace travelling light as a lifestyle, the flexibility this brings is extraordinary. I can literally jump on the back of a bike anywhere, anytime, and just go. No fuss. No heavy bags. No overthinking.

The Great Suitcase Experiment of Japan

Now, back to the a hilarious scene in Tokyo.

After years of backpacking, my children got curious. They’d watched other families with their rolling suitcases and thought, “That looks easier!” So for our trip to Japan, I said yes. They each got a small wheeled suitcase.

The chaos began on the plane.

These children, who have been travelling since they were babies, who’d navigated Sri Lankan and Thai trains like seasoned pros, suddenly looked like bewildered first-time flyers. They struggled to wheel their suitcases through the aircraft aisle, bumping into seats, getting stuck, apologising to annoyed passengers.

I was still rocking my trusty rucksack, trying not to smile too obviously.

Japan, bless its efficient heart, has a lot of stairs. Train stations with no elevators. Narrow staircases. Platforms that require Olympic-level maneuvering. And there were my boys, lugging their suitcases up and down, up and down, learning a very physical lesson about choices and consequences.

As a parent, I let them make their own decisions and learn from them. No “I told you so.” Just an observation and the occasional helping hand when things got truly desperate.

By day three, Daniel looked at me and said, “Mum, can we go back to backpacks after this trip?”

Music to my ears.

Backpacking it is for these two boys. Travel light. The mobility, the freedom, the simplicity. They got it. Sometimes the best lessons are the ones you carry up train station stairs yourself.

Train Them Young

To travel light with young children might sound impossible, but when we first set off for Sri Lanka, Daniel had a small Decathlon rucksack and William was using my 18-litre Deuter. I had my 24-litre Deuter. That’s it. Three humans, three bags.

Travelling alone with two young children through a developing country sounds daunting, right? And here’s the secret: having a rucksack each was actually a blessing.

We could move through crowded bus stations without getting stuck. We could board packed public buses where luggage space was nonexistent. We could navigate third-class trains where every inch of space mattered. We could squeeze into tuk-tuks without mathematical negotiations about space capacity.

The boys adapted beautifully. At three years old, they understood. This is what we carry, this is what we have, this is how we travel.

No tears. No tantrums about leaving toys or favourite books behind. Just acceptance and, eventually, pride in their ability to carry their own stuff.

We’ve done trips carrying nothing more than 24-litre cabin-sized rucksacks- ten days, sometimes two weeks, up to a month. Nothing checked in the aircraft cargo hole.

No one suffered. No one melted down. No one missed anything important.

Mindful packing has long been encouraged by avid travellers, not just for practicality, but for clarity of purpose.

The Deeper Lessons: How Travelling Light Teaches Gratitude

Travelling light taught us something far more valuable than efficiency. It taught us gratitude.

When you step out of your comfort zone without all the usual layers of convenience, you begin to notice everything differently. A clean bed feels indulgent. A hot shower feels almost sacred. Fresh clothes become a small celebration.

The real lessons didn’t come from what we lacked. They came from what we experienced.

I remember standing at a train station in Sri Lanka. I had deliberately booked third class. Not for novelty. Not for a story, but so my children could sit among locals, not behind tinted windows. I wanted them to see Sri Lanka as it is. Not filtered through polished brochures and chauffeur driven cars.

When the train rolled in, it was already packed. People pressed against the doors, leaning out of windows. Before the train had even fully stopped, a woman spotted me with the boys. She gestured urgently for my rucksack. Instinctively, without hesitation, without suspicion, I handed them through the moving window.

William looked at me, puzzled. “Will it be okay mummy?”
I smiled, and said to him, “I trust it will be fine.”

We climbed on and made our way through the carriage. There were our bags. Safely placed on a seat. Waiting for us. Two Sri Lankan children in white school uniforms were already sitting opposite. My boys smiled. The children smiled back.

The train rattled forward. Strangers became companions. No shared language. No shared background. Just shared humanity.

That day, my children learned something no classroom could teach. They learned trust. They learned generosity. They learned that connection doesn’t require fluency, only openness.

Travelling light makes space for these moments. When you are not weighed down by excess, you are more present. More available. More willing to lean into the unfamiliar.

Happiness, they discovered, doesn’t come from having more. It comes from sharing what you already have. It comes from sitting shoulder to shoulder with someone different from you and realising you are not so different after all.

Daniel, my younger son, carries that awareness well. He is calm, thoughtful, and determined. The kind of boy who checks if I’ve eaten. Who offers to sit on the floor so I can have the better seat. That attentiveness wasn’t taught in a classroom. It grew on trains like that one. In moments of watching. Of observing. Of being present.

Somewhere along the way, he found photography. A new way of seeing. A new way of noticing light falling on a stranger’s face. A new way of honouring ordinary beauty.

William, as the older brother, has always carried a different kind of responsibility. Protective. Alert. The one who calls out to a bus driver when his mother has one foot on the step. The one who instinctively shifts his shoulder so his little brother can sleep safely against him.

He reads maps better than most adults. Spots possible guesthouses before I do. Notices street signs. Calculates routes. Look ahead.

Both of them carry their charm differently. Daniel, with his curly dirty blonde hair and quiet intensity, draws smiles without even trying. There is something gentle about him that softens strangers.

William carries himself differently. As the older brother, there is a steadiness to him – sharp features, alert eyes, the kind of presence that makes locals instinctively strike up conversations. He listens carefully. Responds thoughtfully. People seem to trust him quickly.

And sometimes, as heads turn and smiles follow them, I cannot help but smile quietly to myself. They must wonder if these boys truly belong to me.

The truth is, the world has raised them as much as I have. The boys have grown up understanding that the world is not something to be feared from a distance, but engaged with fully.

These aren’t lessons you can teach in within the walls of classrooms. They are lessons you learn by carrying your own bag through the world. When you trust strangers. When you share biscuits on a third class train. When you realise the world is kinder than fear would have you believe.

And perhaps that is the greatest gift travelling light has given us.

Brotherhood, Buses and Bare Floors

To travel light also meant learning to move with the world instead of against it.

I remember jumping onto a bus in Sri Lanka. The boys had climbed in ahead of me. I had only placed one foot on the step when the bus lurched forward. Before I could react, seven year old William called out to the driver, “Hey, my mum is still getting on!”

The driver turned, smiled, and raised his hand in apology. I don’t know if he understood every word, but he understood enough. He stopped.

We squeezed into a narrow two seater meant for two, fitting three bodies into the space without complaint. Daniel, only three at the time, fell asleep as the bus rattled on. His head slowly tipped sideways and came to rest on William’s shoulder. William didn’t move. He simply adjusted himself slightly to support him better.

That image is carved into my heart. Love. Brotherhood. Responsibility. Flexibility became their norm.

They learned that space is not measured in square metres. It is measured in mindset.

They learned patience when buses were late. Humility when plans changed. Resourcefulness when things did not go perfectly. A rucksack on your back does something to your spirit. It reminds you that you already carry what you need. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Travelling light stripped away the illusion that comfort must always look polished. Sandy floors did not matter. Small rooms did not matter. We did not need forty square metres or giant suitcases to feel secure.

And perhaps that is the quiet truth beneath it all. When you travel light through the world, you learn to travel light within yourself too. Life does not need to be curated to be beautiful.

And neither do we.

Winter in Japan: Travel Light Even in the Cold

Travel light works year-round, even in winter. Winter in Japan. Cold air. Layers. Long walks. Train stations with endless stairs.

Once again, I travelled with just a cabin-size rucksack.

No big suitcase. No “just in case” outfits. No backups for backups.

Laundry became part of their routine. The kids took turns. Some days they argued about whose turn it was, but they worked it out. Responsibility. Teamwork. Family.

Travelling light turns everyday tasks into lessons without you even trying.

And yes, this was the trip where the boys learned their suitcase lesson the hard way, dragging those wheels up and down station stairs while I glided past with my trusty backpack. Sometimes the best teaching method is just letting them figure it out themselves.

The Practical Magic: Real Benefits of Travelling Light

Travelling light offers benefits that go far beyond just having a smaller bag. Here’s what years of travelling light have taught me:

Mobility is everything. Travelling light gives you mobility that transforms your entire travel experience. When opportunity knocks, whether it is a local inviting you to their village, a spontaneous detour to a hidden beach, or a last-minute bus that’s about to leave, you can just say yes. No luggage logistics holding you back.

Transportation becomes easier. Travelling light means public buses, motorbikes, boats, hitchhiking, and tuk-tuks are all accessible options. When you’re not wheeling a suitcase, the world opens up. You’re not limited to taxi-accessible destinations.

No souvenir overload. Travelling light keeps you mindful about purchases. I’ve never been tempted to buy unnecessary things when travelling. No flower vases. No additional woven baskets. No bulky beach towels or little knick-knacks that seemed charming at the moment but become clutter at home. We travel light, and we come home light, with memories instead of things.

Less stress. Nothing to check. Nothing to lose. Nothing to worry about being stolen or damaged. Everything important is literally on your back.

Authentic experiences. Travelling light changes how you interact with destinations. When you’re backpacking, you blend in differently. You take local transport, eat at local places, stay in local accommodations where real conversations happen. You’re not the tourist with the designer luggage set. You’re just another traveller on the road.

The Gift We’re Giving Our Children

At 51, looking back on nearly a decade of backpacking with my boys, I realise we’ve given them something money can’t buy: the confidence to move through the world unencumbered.

They know they can travel light anywhere with just what they can carry. They’re not afraid of discomfort or unfamiliar situations. They understand that adventure often requires letting go of convenience.

And perhaps most importantly, they’ve learned that the best things in life aren’t things at all. They’re the sunrise from a train window, the kindness of strangers, the satisfaction of navigating a foreign city, the shared laughter when everything goes hilariously wrong.

Your Turn: Ready to Start Travelling Light?

To travel light isn’t just about packing less. It’s a mindset shift. It’s choosing freedom over stuff, experiences over possessions, flexibility over comfort.

You don’t need to wash your face with shampoo or go braless (though you’re welcome to join me!). Perhaps you could question what you really need when you travel light. Maybe your kids are more resilient and more capable than you think. Maybe that suitcase is holding you back from adventures you haven’t even imagined yet.

Start small. Take a weekend trip with just a rucksack. Experience the freedom of travelling light firsthand. Or, if you’re brave, book that Sri Lankan adventure and see where a 24-litre cabin sized rucksack can take you.

Just remember: when your children inevitably want to try suitcases, let them. The train station stairs will teach them everything they need to know about why travelling light wins every time.

And you’ll get to smile knowingly from behind your perfectly sized ruckpack, watching the next generation learn what you already know – that to travel light is the freest way to see the world. Travelling light gives you the mobility and freedom to shift direction without hesitation, whether jumping onto a truck in Sri Lanka or navigating the wild landscapes of Tajikistan.

Here’s a question for you. How often do we pack the “just in case,” only to discover you never needed half of it?