We Had A Life That Looked Good On The Surface. Then We Sold Everything We Owned To Travel The World Full Time.
We were 50-something empty nesters with 35 years of marriage under our belt. We had four grown daughters and nine grandkids, a house we loved, a business we'd built, and a life that, on the surface, looked good. And it was good, even if we felt like something was missing. We had fallen into a rhythm that felt more like repetition. It was like living the same day over and over again.
Then, during COVID, I had a cancer scare. It turned out to be benign, but in the long, terrifying weeks of waiting, everything shifted. All the routines and responsibilities that once felt essential suddenly seemed arbitrary. I realized how easily we could run out of time, and how much of our lives we had spent putting things off. That experience cracked something open in us.
We started asking harder questions. What if we stopped waiting for the right time? What if we actually did the thing we always said we'd do 'someday'?
We started joking about 'running away' and living out of a suitcase. Then the jokes turned into spreadsheets. Spreadsheets turned into lists. And before we knew it, we were sitting on our living room floor, surrounded by decades of stuff, packing up donations and wondering if we'd completely lost our minds.
Spoiler: We had. In the best possible way.
We sold the house, the cars, even the furniture. We got rid of the lawnmower, the sectional, and the juicer I swore I'd use one day. We kept what we could carry in two suitcases, put a few special things in storage, and had a sense of purpose that was both thrilling and terrifying.
We boarded a one-way flight to Bali with vague plans to return for Christmas. We had no fixed itinerary and absolutely no idea what we were doing. That was two years ago. Since then, we've lived in 15 countries, traveled more than 120,000 miles, and learned more about ourselves than we did in the previous 30 years combined.
The logistics were tough, but the emotional part was even harder. How do you explain to your adult kids that you're leaving? Not just for a week or two, but for the foreseeable future. That you're skipping the stability you once preached and embracing a lifestyle that even you don't fully understand?
There were tears. There was confusion. There were hugs and heart-to-hearts and promises to FaceTime. One of our grandkids asked if we were going to live in space. Another said, 'You'll be back in a week.' I laughed at the time, but part of me wondered if they were right.
Some of them think we're on every airplane they see in the sky. You should see the looks of confusion when we're actually with them and they see a plane overhead.
I wrestled with guilt in ways I never expected. I had been a mom for so long, and was so excited to be a grandmother. It felt strange to center myself in the story of my own life. What kind of woman chooses adventure over baking cookies with her grandkids?
But here's the thing. I spent decades making sure everyone else was OK. This was the first time I asked what I wanted. And what I wanted was to live intentionally, explore the world with my husband, and create a new kind of legacy, one built not just on stability, but on curiosity and courage.
When we landed in Bali, it was raining. We ended up booking a beautiful Airbnb that turned out to be way out in the countryside. There was a beach across the street, but no grocery stores nearby and no public transportation. That first night, we sat in our villa and quietly wondered if we'd made a huge mistake.
And then something shifted.
We found rhythm in the chaos. We rented a scooter and slowly started exploring. We began falling in love with our little town of Balian. We didn't know what we were doing and that was the point.
We woke up every day with nothing to do and nowhere to be. It was a kind of freedom we hadn't known since our 20s. We explored neighborhoods on foot, tried foods we couldn't pronounce, got lost, and found hidden cafés and quiet moments that reminded us why we were doing this.
Some days were magic. Other days were mundane. This wasn't a vacation. It was life, just in a new time zone, with monkeys, surfing and nasi goreng.
We started sharing our journey online through our blog, JetsetPetersons.com, and our Instagram. What began as a way to keep family updated quickly turned into something more: a space to inspire others who felt like they had missed their shot at adventure. People would message us saying, 'I didn't know you could do this at 50,' or, 'My kids are grown and I feel stuck. Thank you for showing another way.'
That was when we realized this wasn't just our story. It was something bigger.
One of the most surprising things we learned? You don't have to be extremely wealthy to travel full time. We live on $3,000 a month, and sometimes even less. We rent long-term Airbnbs in walkable neighborhoods. We cook most of our meals. We take public transportation and book flights based on what's cheapest, not what's most convenient. Letting the deal determine the destination has taken us to places we never expected: Vietnam, Thailand, even France and Spain. Some of our favorite places were ones we'd never even considered.
People often assume travel is all luxury and leisure, but the truth is, this lifestyle is as much about problem-solving as it is about passports. We've dealt with visa mix-ups, broken washing machines, language barriers, food poisoning, lost luggage, and a phone that got stolen on the metro on our first day in Paris.
We've also had more conversations with strangers, more spontaneous dance parties, and more 'I can't believe this is our life' moments than we can count.
The hardest part isn't travel; it's the distance. I won't sugarcoat it. Being away from our kids and grandkids is the hardest part.
We've missed birthday parties and baby teeth and all the little in-between moments you don't realize are sacred until you're watching them on a screen. I've cried in hotel rooms and on train platforms. I've questioned whether we're doing the right thing more times than I can count.
But I've also learned that presence isn't just physical. We send voice memos and pictures. We read bedtime stories over Zoom. We send postcards from every city we visit. We help with piano practice over FaceTime. We tell them about the world and how big and beautiful it is, and that they can be part of it, too.
And when we do visit home, which we plan intentionally a few times a year, our time together feels richer, deeper, more present. Because we're not exhausted. We're not running on empty or counting the minutes until the weekend. We're showing up as our fullest selves.
There's this myth that by 50, you should have it all figured out. That reinvention is for the young. That it's too late to start over. But the truth is, this chapter, the one after raising kids, building careers, and checking all the boxes, can be the most freeing of all.
Success used to look like a paid-off mortgage, a big career, and a packed calendar. Now, it looks like a morning walk through a market in Bali or working from a quiet French café in a town square. It looks like having time to think, to connect, to breathe.
It also looks like learning to trust myself again. To make decisions not based on expectations, but on intuition. To be OK with not knowing what comes next.
And the most surprising part? The more we've embraced uncertainty, the more certain we feel.
If you're reading this and thinking, That sounds amazing, but I could never do that, I want you to know: I thought that, too.
I also know what a privilege it is to be able to choose this path. Not everyone has the flexibility, resources or support to travel the world full time, and I'm deeply grateful every day that we get to live this way.
We didn't have it all figured out. Honestly, we still don't. But we did it anyway. And that's what made it meaningful.
You don't have to sell everything and move abroad to reclaim your life. But you can say yes to something that scares you. You can want more, even if your life looks full on paper. You can choose yourself, even if you've spent years choosing everyone else.
This isn't a story about travel. It's a story about permission. About listening to the little whisper inside that says, 'What if?' and then daring to find out.
We're still figuring it out, one country, one mistake, one unforgettable moment at a time. But if there's one thing I know for sure, it's this: It's never too late to live a life that feels like your own.
A travel writer, blogger, and grandmother of nine who has lived in 15 countries, Shelly Peterson shares honest travel stories and tips at JetsetPetersons.com and runs JetSetClub.co, a flight deal service that helps travelers chase their own adventures When she's not exploring a new destination, you can usually find her playing the harp, trying new recipes or soaking up the sun by the ocean.
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