Hi. My name is Beatrice, and I’m a travelholic.

Okay, that’s a lie, my name is not actually Beatrice, in fact it does not even vaguely resemble Beatrice, despite a large number of people calling me that.

The other part, though…that’s true. I’m a travelholic and up to this point, I’ve been suffering constant withdrawal.

Since I was young I’ve had my nose to the grindstone, first with school, then with a diploma. I got a job in my field before I graduated, ended up with a mortgage in my early 20s and worked, worked, worked.

I’m an anxious person; I worry about everything and plan down to the last detail, so I’ve never been unemployed, never taken any big risks, and never had the opportunity to travel as much as I have always wanted to.

Until now.

After over 11 years at my full-time job (that’s a long, long time by any standards — even longer when you consider that I’m only 31 and have therefore worked at the same company for over 1/3 of my life), I am embarking upon the most intimidating adventure of my life thus far.

I’ve sold my apartment and half my belongings, resigned from my job, and am going to spend a year travelling.