You never stop learning about life. You never stop learning more about yourself, and till your mind stays open to explore, you will always find new ways.
That's what I am typing, wrapped in multiple blanket layers, consuming the unapologetic amount of Christmas food leftovers. It's a big joy to type again. "Traks is typing" — that's the original pun-intended name of my blog that I started 2 years ago, noting down observations about life and people, sharing reflections and things that I like. Writing was always my most organic way to communicate with the world.
But what if, at some point, you stop? Some time ago, I got a major writer's block that came together with many other blocks. For self-expression, opinions, and courage to be.
It felt like a major inner request to reinvent and meet myself again. The peak of this period coincided with a very intense period of my travels. In the last 1.5 months, I visited 3 continents, 5 countries, 9 cities, and spent 57 hours in the air.
The idea to drastically change the environment felt tempting. The first destination was India. Near that time, Netflix threw me "Eat, Pray, Love" on suggested. Watching it in my teen years, I felt skeptical about it. Wasn't that a story of a privileged tourist from a first-world country? As they say, be careful in your critical judgments. I re-watched the movie, and suddenly, the idea of staying alone somewhere for a while, searching for some internal answers, seemed surprisingly viable.
That same night, I booked tickets from Delhi to Kathmandu and googled the logistics to Pokhara. A few days later, I was on the 8-hour flight to Delhi. One-woman dedicated squad Vs. the sting of life's vicissitudes. Sounds like a path that holds zero guarantees. But what in life does? And why not take the courage to try?
India
On a flight, I was seated next to a lady in her late 40s. Her name was Trumpti. She said it means "Satisfying." Trumpti was telling me stories about her immigration to the US, young years in India; gave me some Indian treats and left her phone number in case I need something. I took it as a good sign. This trip will go well.
3 am local time. Indira Gandhi Airport. Customs. Cab. 6 am. I am finally at the hotel, feeling the jet lag with each cell of my body. 8 am sharp I need to be at the meeting. Oops, I wasn't prepared for the traffic in Delhi. Warsaw with people never crossing on the red light? Getting fined for that? Ha.
I was circling the street from one zebra to another. As I stepped towards the crosswalk, a loudly honking tuk-tuk was coming around the corner at full speed. After 20 minutes of vain attempts to reach the opposite street, I saw a man approaching me. "Let me help you to cross it,' he said.
The "Don't talk to strangers" rule is easy to break when you don't speak the language, can barely handle the traffic, and must navigate a bunch of stuff upon arrival. In the next 10 days, I broke this rule quite a few times, and luckily, I came across only good people who were trying to do their best to help.
When going to India, I was sure it would be a unique experience, but I surely did not expect to have a real-life experience similar to "Eat, pray, love." This trip launched a chain of inner transformations that uncovered the layers that stayed preserved for a long time. As Liz Gilbert enjoyed gastronomy, reconnected with herself, and felt love again, in a way, I repeated her steps.
Eat
I always liked Indian food. Or, at least, the adaptation available in Europe. For a while, my favorite evening activity was to close the laptop, order masala chicken, and turn on HBO. Indian cuisine is very spicy, delicious, and diverse. Hospitality is a big part of Indian culture. Everyone I've met was trying to treat me. I do not like too sweet food, and I like spices. Phirni, kheer, doodh pak rice puddings, panipuri snacks, various soups (we love soups here!), and dips. Plenty of choices for those who eat meat and who prefer vegetarian options. People were gladly sharing the recipes, so I brought a few home.
Pray
My friends did their best to introduce me to their home country and culture. One day, my friend picked me up, saying it was time to get acquainted with the spiritual side of India. Starting from the Hindu temple and moving to the Singh one, we visited a few.
Sure, you can always google one temple or another, but to explore this side of human nature with a friend is a whole different level. To have conversations about moral systems, ethics, religions, and the differences between Eastern and Western worldviews. To search for your higher self. For universal principles of law, order, harmony, and truth. Dharmabumming around, if you want. The temples felt so peaceful. Serene. In Singh temple, there was a big water pool. What a place to come, sit by, and be with your thoughts. I noticed it's common there to wear a simple silver or golden bracelet, which they explained as a mental reminder. If you consider doing something bad, look at it and stop.
After the service, we got some prashad — the sweet porridge one can get after the service. Half is taken away; half is yours. The explanation is simple — to get half, you first need to get half. It’s such a simple yet profound act of balance and reciprocity. After these few visits, the lesson was learned: harmony begins within and only then extends outward.
Love (lots of Pyār here)
Spoiler: unlike Julia Roberts, my story didn't involve hot Brazilians. Love comes in different shapes and forms. We often speak about romantic love as a virtue to pursue, forgetting that there is so much more than that. As a young woman, you don't necessarily need to fall for someone to feel love.
Love is also the warmth of friendships and the kindness of people you meet along your way (Shehla, Walter, Shrey — thank you for making my trip so special), and sometimes, the only kind of love you need is to fall in love with life again. Love in India is drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen and having an oversharing session with friends on the night of your flight. Love is to have friends caring enough to bring respirators when I fully lose my voice. Love is a lady at the reception bringing me masala tea with honey and cough syrup when it's out of her responsibilities.
On my second day of the trip, I met a girl. We went to the Taj Mahal together, which is a long 8-hour round-ride. The conversation flowed so easily and it felt like I already knew her for a while. As we were parting our ways, she asked whether I wanted to come over and meet her family the next day.
I felt anxious — are there any things that I should be culturally aware of? How do we talk with her family if there is a language barrier? Delhi is a huge city. We were driving for more than an hour. On the way, my phone died. Bravo, Tania. Smart! How do I find the house now? We reach the location, and suddenly, some man is knocking the door of the car.
"Hi! You must be Tania, we were waiting for you. Now, let's come home." He gives me a warm hug. We enter the house, and I meet the rest of the family. They speak Urdu; I am 3-word literate in the language. What can you do in this situation? I guess just vibe!
We had lunch, watched Mamma Mia together (IYKYK!), and watched family albums. Indian weddings from 80s and 90s. Everyone is so young, fancy-dressed, and happy. As my friend is getting married soon, we watched her engagement recording, all while her uncle made us the most delicious homemade rice pudding I've ever tried.
We spent the whole evening together. When I was leaving, my friend's mom hugged me and said, "I know we just met, but you remind me of my daughter so much. And you feel like a daughter." I don't know whether one can receive warmer words than those from a mom. Love (pyar in Urdu) can be so different. But I knew for a fact that thanks to people, Delhi felt like lots of pyar.
Nepal
I like mountains. I like to walk, I like to think, and I wanted to have me-time. Nepal unites those two well. That was my next stop. Strolling around Kathmandu felt refreshing. So many wires on the street, looking as tangled as human thoughts sometimes. The Monkey Temple and Momo dumplings.
I had a short stay in Nepal, so taking a long hiking track did not make sense. Yet I still made it to Pokhara. No Internet. No people except for the local guide I found on the spot. Just me, my thoughts, and nature. The most fascinating thing about such places is that they give you the space to focus. To feel your emotions and to hear what they signal to you.
And oh boy, turns out, I feel so freaking much. Gratitude, warmth, care, but also anger, sadness, grief, a huge load of disappointment, and a disturbed sense of justice.
I think that for your goodness, you need to accept all of your emotions. Good and bad, simply as a part of you. Accept your nature. For me, it was to accept that I am anxious, sensitive, tuned in to the static of the world around me. For a long time, I cared deeply, maybe too deeply, about things that mattered to me, pouring energy and giving fucks, until... I ran out of them. When you care about many things, and you care deeply, at some point, you reach a breaking point. The limits, when pushed too far, force you reevaluate. And from there comes the turning point. And the world goes by. And I do me. And the focus is within. And sometimes you just need to say"fuck it." And that's the only therapy that you need.
I came back to Kathmandu tired. Having long, honest conversations with yourself is sometimes exhausting but valid — you get a new vision. The following days felt empty. Not in a bad way, but in the way of suddenly having a clean space in your pretty head but not filling it with something new yet. Now, the question is, how can we restore this space with joy?
Paris. Joie de vivre
A few days after coming home, I caught another flight. This time to Paris. France reminded me that joy doesn't just show up on the front lawn and begin doling out blank checks. Joy must be beckoned. Joy must be tended. I realize joy is a squirrelly word, right up there beside its abused siblings, mindful and empowered. I don't care. I am committed to the ongoing work of joy, and I don't mean a deaf-and-dumb, smiley-face-emoji brand of joy. I'm talking eyes-wide-open joy that sees the world for what it is and chooses to remain soft anyway.
In France, it feels like hedonism is a part of the culture. Joy is tasted. Joy has no rush. It is visual, touchable, and comes in scents, textures, and flavors. My Paris feels like Jane Birkin's "Munkey Diaries." To wake up at dawn and stroll around Monmart. To photosynthesize on the sun by Champs-Élysées and grab a warm croissant by Tour Eiffel. As they say, no thoughts, head empty, yet I can't stop thinking.
So I was thinking, what things bring me joy and whether they still do? I used to like many things. I like literature. I like music. I like visual arts. I like fashion. I like history. I like social sciences. I like meeting people and yapping their precious ears off.
I decided to search for some inspiration at the Museum of Fashion History. Dior, Balmain, Gaultier, Givenchy. Long, long list. Historical costumes. Fancy, of-all-shapes hats. Designers who created for women and whose creations showed that they clearly liked women.
I kept walking. Musée de l’Orangerie. Monet's Lilies. A woman from a bakery who gave me the list of Paris hidden gems. The guys who use AI to create impressionistic pictures.
"We are inspired by the power of the human brain," they concluded our conversation.
Indeed, I thought, there is nothing more beautiful than exploring human potential. Suddenly, from there, it came out the draft of the perspective. These things that I like still bring me joy. They still inspire me. That means there is a request to create. But how do I understand how exactly I should create?
The Foggy Albion
Two days later, I was on the way to London. I like this city. From many places I've been to, I can imagine myself being here for longer. It matches my aesthetic, I embrace the culture... And you can't scare me off with a shitty foggy weather.
I think that London became a place where my creative spark started coming back. The reason is mostly visual. Advertising. For my subjective taste, they have the best ad creatives. Visuals, slogans, delivery. I like irony. I like dry humor. I do not mind sarcasm. And I absolutely love how Brits use it for marketing.
One can argue this is too much and that marketing teams watched TikTok one and now are trying to fit Gen Z, and Gen Z only. But comparing the ads and marketing in London to other places, I am persuaded it is rather a social and cultural synthesis of the UK. A bit unhinged but not edgy. London feels grungy in comparison to Paris, and I like it. Messier, but not chaotic. Christmassy at this time of the year, with people walking around with Marks & Spencer Percy Pig bags. There are many things I like about London; it feels like a good place to be, and I always worry that someday I might lose this feeling.
However, London became the city where I got the frame of further development of my creative side. Shaped by people who start and try things there. Talks to friends. Bookhunting. Pictures that I took and that now serve as visual references. Sitting on a plane back, I was already taking down notes of what I could do and how.
Concrete jungles where dreams are made of
No place in the world can compare. After four visits, I’ve stopped idealizing New York —I know it’s not an easy place to live. But I still believe, 100%, that “if you make it there, you can make it anywhere.” Nothing feels impossible in New York. You wake up and want to go and do things. That's the energy of the city. You feel like chasing your dreams and ambitions, no matter how “too much” they seem elsewhere. New York doesn’t judge; it just finds a way to handle them.
This time, I stayed in a quiet neighborhood in Long Island City. Perfect cozy coffee shops, walking tracks, and a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline and the water — it's like having front-row seats to New York itself.
A week in New York felt just right. Whatever I was doing — walking the Brooklyn Bridge, grabbing overpriced matcha and having long talks with friends in Europe, having morning runs by the river, healing my inner child by the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, indulging in disgustingly good pizza slices, or just lying in bed, staring at Manhattan at night. Getting back to my element — speaking at the Global Peace Summit and attending journo training at Fox News.
The ability to speak about the issues that matter to me. In fact, to be able to speak again. To share. To discuss. Some time ago, someone told me that my huge drawback is being a journalist and always being somewhere. I am so fucking grateful to New York that it reminded me that that's exactly who I am.
That indeed, I write, I ask questions, I like to find answers, and I like to co-create. The only thing is that not everyone sees it as a flaw or has the urge to belittle you to feel better about themselves. But there are tons of people who want to create together. Who invite you to collab. Who speak about the issues that bother them themselves and who encourage you to find your voice back. And I finally started recognizing myself again.
I guess these streets indeed made me feel brand new. The welcome banner at JFK isn’t lying: “Where everyone feels welcomed.” Because almost everyone here is an immigrant. Everyone is navigating their story, carving out their way. I heard the craziest, the boldest, the most unbelievable stories of people who moved there. There is a space for everyone, whoever one wants to become. And I find it beautiful.
New York also has this magic of bringing people together when you least expect it. One night, I was rushing through the rain for a meeting. The bus left without me, of course. Soaking wet and tired, I walked up to a girl who shared with me an umbrella.
“Thank you. You’re really kind,” I said. “No worries,” she replied. “People love helping in NYC. After all, we all struggle in this city.” We ended up sharing an Uber. She was an actress who lived just a few streets from me. A classic New York moment. It’s wild how connected we all are in ways we never plan for.
Later, I joined a friend, or should I rather say an older mentor for lunch at MoMA — a director, a brilliant smart person.
For the first time, I admitted my struggle with writer’s block.“What inspires you?” I asked. “And how do you find it again when it’s gone for so long?”
We wandered through the museum, talking about creativity, writing, and art when one piece stopped me: The House of Hope. A golden temple, glowing in sunlight, like the ones I’d seen in Nepal. The artist’s note read: “And the sun will rise again.” Indeed, it always does — even when you don’t believe it.
As we walked, I realized what I’d been searching for. My inspiration isn’t lost. It’s always been life itself and the people in it. To document, to experience, to share. It’s simple, but it takes effort to reinvent and adjust it to your vision. New York reminded me of that. And this time, it left me with something I hadn’t felt in a long time: the feeling that the puzzle got the final piece. I can create again.
The Big Realization
Coming back to Europe, I had the worst jet lag ever, functioning at odd hours for a full week. But as much as I write here about my traveling adventures, let me be clear: I was working the entire time. We hosted seven events in November alone. I can’t remember the last time I worked so hard and focused, but I also can’t remember the last time I felt so deeply satisfied with what we collectively created.
Now, as I allow myself bedrots and enjoy an unapologetic number of carbs during this holiday season, I’m finally reflecting on the past 1.5 months of my journey. Beyond the work and travel, it was a journey inward — a search for parts of myself I thought I’d lost.
Maybe I didn’t fully find the girl I lost along the way, but something shifted. My brain chemistry feels rewired. The world is so amazing and so enormous, and it’s ridiculous to limit yourself with prejudice or bias when exploring it. You don’t need a specific reason to venture out. Your will to do it is reason enough.
One key lesson from my travels: learn to trust yourself. My worst decisions happened when I gaslit my gut feeling. That’s not to say rational judgment isn’t important — it is. But I’ve realized it’s not enough on its own. You need balance. If something feels X and not Y, chances are, it probably is X.
Another takeaway: you need to find Your people. I want to surround myself with those I trust and who trust me. People who can listen, communicate, and show up authentically. People who don’t belittle or plot. Who embrace flaws and help cultivate strengths. These are the relationships worth building — ones rooted in mutual respect, even if we choose different paths.
You should never silence yourself when it’s time to act. That I learned the hard way. That said, knowing when not to act is just as important. I’ve learned not to be so harsh on myself. From being Miss-You-Need-to-Have-It-All-Figured-Out-At-Once, I’ve realized that progress is progress — even if it’s slow. Be patient with yourself, just as you’d be with a friend. Even if your pace doesn’t match someone else’s, you’re still moving forward.
At the end of the day, you always have yourself. That’s your core strength. Building your inner stability protects you from the dangers of seeking external validation or feeling “not enough.” When you feel grounded in yourself, the world becomes a little less overwhelming.
We’re all just humans navigating life — sometimes with clarity, sometimes fumbling in the dark. But as long as we keep moving, trusting ourselves, and surrounding ourselves with the right people, we’ll be okay. So here’s to embracing the mess, the progress, and the grace of quiet (and occasionally loud) victories — one step at a time.