Hello from Marseille,
Lately, I’ve been feeling a quiet contradiction creeping in.
I live a life shaped by movement—between continents, cultures, and homes. From Marseille’s Mediterranean Mistral to Mexico’s Pacific coast, from the cotton fields of Guatemala to the buzzing streets of New York City, where a big part of me still belongs. My husband is Australian. We raise our family in France. Our work, friendships, and stories are scattered across the globe.
I recognize how fortunate this is. And yet, I can’t ignore the discomfort that has started to accompany my travels.
Everything I do—personally and professionally—is rooted in sustainability, supporting local communities, and honoring the environment. I work with artisans who cultivate heirloom cotton, embracing slow processes and low impact. I avoid overconsumption, champion local makers, and choose ethical businesses. But then, I board a plane. Again and again.
Just this past month I landed in Mexico City, Hong Kong, Melbourne, Singapour and Paris. Eeeekkk.
And I wonder: How do I reconcile my love for travel with my commitment to protecting the planet?
There’s no escaping the fact that air travel has a significant environmental impact. I’m aware of the carbon footprint that comes with every long-haul flight I take. And yet, my life seems built around this constant movement. My family, work, and passions are scattered across continents.
Sometimes, I catch myself justifying it—telling myself that my trips aren’t for leisure alone but for work that supports local economies and traditional crafts. And while that’s true, the unease remains.
It feels uncomfortable to hold two truths at once:
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That I deeply care about sustainability, protecting the environment, and consuming less.
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And that my lifestyle—traveling across the world—contradicts these values.
It’s hard to admit, and honestly, I don’t like this feeling.
So why keep traveling?
For me, travel isn’t a luxury—it’s how I connect the threads of my life. My work with heirloom cotton, for example, wouldn’t exist without the relationships I’ve built with artisans in Central America. These relationships were formed not over emails or Zoom calls but by sitting together, sharing stories, and witnessing their craft firsthand.
Travel is also how I stay connected to the places that shaped me. New York City, where I lived for 11 years, holds memories of raising my children and starting my business. Mexico, where I lived for nearly a decade and were I have a eco-friendly lodge, is where I built deep bonds with communities whose traditions continue to inspire my work. France, where I now live, offers a different rhythm—one that allows me to raise my kids with more time and connexion. (Yes, connexion with an “x”—sometimes French wins.)
And then there’s Australia—my husband’s home—where another piece of our family’s story lives.
These journeys aren’t just about changing scenery; they’re about preserving relationships, learning from diverse cultures, and supporting local economies in meaningful ways. Sometimes, I think, “C’est comme ça.”—these places are part of me.
For me, travel remains a bridge between worlds that matter deeply.
While I may not be able to eliminate travel from my life, I can be intentional about how I do it.
Over the years, I’ve learned that how we travel matters as much as where we go. I choose to stay longer in one place instead of hopping from city to city. I look for ways to embed myself in local rhythms rather than skimming the surface. I avoid large hotel chains in favor of small, locally owned guesthouses or rentals.
When I visit artisans, I ensure that my support goes beyond simple transactions—I share their stories and work to amplify their voices. I choose routes that make sense, combining trips to minimize flights.
And most importantly, I’m learning to say no. This one, it’s difficult, really. Not every invitation, opportunity, or getaway needs to be accepted. Sometimes, the most sustainable choice is to stay put.
These choices aren’t perfect solutions, but they feel like steps in the right direction.
The truth is, I don’t think there’s a neat conclusion here. : /
We live in a globalized world where movement is part of many of our lives. And yet, the planet is sending us increasingly urgent signals to slow down.
So what do we do when our values and our realities don’t align perfectly?
My answer might be to travel less but with deeper purpose. To ensure that the connections made, the stories shared, and the knowledge exchanged give back more than they take.
For me, travel isn’t about ticking places off a list. It’s more like… understanding —how people live, create, and connect.It’s about standing still long enough in a place to hear its stories.
So, I’ll keep wrestling with this contradiction. And I’ll keep sharing the journeys that inspire me, in the hope that they inspire more thoughtful ways of seeing the world.
What are your thoughts on this balance?
How do you navigate the love for travel with care for the planet? Would you consider stop traveling?
I’d love to hear your perspective.