Travel now, worry later? The cost of seeing the world in your 20s

Am I wildly irresponsible for spending my savings on plane tickets instead of a house deposit… or am I just investing in character development?

There’s a certain thrill to booking a trip when your bank account is gently whispering, “Maybe don’t”.

A little voice of reason says, “You should probably be saving for a house”. 

The louder voice says, but floating through Venice on a gondola feels like a more pressing investment.

And so you book the flight. You pack your bags. You fly into another country with just enough cash to cover the trip and maybe one emergency iced latte, and you hope the “life experience” you’re gaining somehow balances out the gaping hole in your savings account.

Welcome to your 20s.

We’re part of a generation constantly juggling mixed messages.

“Travel while you’re young!” they say. “Save for your future!” they say in the same breath. 

So we’re left doing emotional gymnastics every time we open the Jetstar app. Do we build our career or book the ticket? Do we lock in an investment plan or a four-day detour to Portugal?

Most of the time, I choose the flight. 

And most of the time, I come back broke, but a slightly more evolved version of myself.

I’ve never travelled with a trust fund or a corporate bonus. I travel with the money I’ve worked for — and sometimes that means cutting corners. 

No breakfast included? No problem. There’s always instant oats and wishful thinking. Accommodation? As long as it has a lock and doesn’t smell like regret, I’m good.

I’ve travelled through Japan, Bali, New Zealand, and Europe — and I’ve always prioritised experiences over upgrades. 

Yes, I’ve skipped meals to afford museum tickets. 

Yes, I’ve checked my bank account before agreeing to a group dinner. 

I once handed over the last of my cash for a “handmade” leather bag in Florence, I absolutely didn’t need.

No regrets — except maybe discovering it was made in China two weeks later.

It’s hard not to feel like you’re doing it “wrong” when you’re surrounded by people buying their first homes, upgrading their cars, or investing in things that come with equity and quiet confidence. 

Meanwhile, you’re googling “how to make €15 last three days in Amsterdam” and ignoring your bank’s passive-aggressive notifications.

The older voices in your life start to creep in:

“Are you putting any money aside?” 

“Shouldn’t you be thinking long term?” 

“Don’t you want to own property someday?” 

Yes. Eventually. Maybe. But also — I just spent two weeks on a horse safari in South Africa and felt more alive than I ever have at my desk job. So maybe we’re not measuring value the same way.

I’ll admit it: I have friends who are more financially “ahead” than me. They have house deposits. I have hostel key cards. They know their credit score. I know what it’s like to juggle five currencies and still forget which coins are worth anything.

But I also know I’ve changed through every trip. I’ve grown. I’ve faced discomfort. I’ve learnt how other people live, what other people value, and how I respond to situations that don’t involve Wi-Fi or room service.

And when I trace things back? My biggest opportunities and connections came from the most chaotic, yes. 

It’s wild how many life-changing things start out feeling completely average. A throwaway job application. A rushed travel booking. A resignation letter typed on a bad day.

But somewhere between panic and instinct, I accidentally built a life that makes sense —even if my bank account is still catching up.

Travelling in your 20s with no safety net isn’t for everyone. It’s not always aesthetic. It’s panic-refreshing your bank app in a food court. It’s choosing memories over mortgages. It’s hard and beautiful and slightly irresponsible in the best way.

But for me? It’s worth it. It always is. Because I can always make more money, but I’ll never get my twenties back.

M x