Not lost, still just wandering.

My Story

In 2020, I quit my social media marketing job without knowing exactly what would come next.

It made no logical sense at the time, but I knew what I was chasing even if I didn’t yet know what it would look like. All I wanted was to feel a deeper sense of alignment between my life and what I did for work, even if that meant I had to let everything I’d built go.

For years, I'd built a life that many people dream about. I never stepped foot in an office, I lived in places like Peru, Colombia, and Mexico, and had the flexibility and freedom to arrange my work week however I wanted to. From the outside, it looked like I'd figured life out by age 30.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still living beside the life I was meant to be living.

So I let it all go in the middle of a pandemic. I quit jobs that weren’t feeling right, said goodbye to the base I’d been calling home for years, and made room for the new, more aligned life to hopefully take shape.

What followed was an excruciatingly long season of uncertainty. There wasn't a five-year plan waiting for me on the other side of the clean slate. There wasn't even an idea of what I was actually moving toward. There were odd jobs, dwindling savings, plenty of moments of doubt, and a lot of learning how to trust a path that only revealed itself one step at a time.

But somewhere along the way—over years, not months—I started to understand what I truly cared about and why I was drawn to be out in the world in the first place. Before every trip, I'd check out stacks of books from the library and watch every documentary, eager to understand the history, culture, and stories that shaped the place I was about to visit. I wanted to know why a destination was the way it was, not simply what there was to do there.

The more I learned, the more I realized that every destination has two versions of itself.

There's the one we visit.

And there's the one that's been there all along.

The communities, traditions, histories, struggles, craftsmanship, and everyday lives that make a place what it is rarely fit into a list of "top things to do." Yet they're often what stay with us long after the trip is over.

That's the kind of travel I became interested in. It's also the kind of travel writing I wanted to contribute to.

Today, as a freelance travel writer and the creator of No Maps or Foot Tracks, my work is rooted in a simple belief: travel becomes more meaningful when we understand the people and stories behind the places we visit.

Sometimes that looks like hiking centuries-old pilgrimage routes across Europe. Sometimes it means exploring Afro-Brazilian heritage in Bahia, planning a road trip through tribal lands in the Pacific Northwest, or spending time with artisans keeping centuries-old traditions alive in Italy. Other times it's simply slowing down enough to notice what most travelers walk right past.

I still love a good itinerary. I still believe practical travel advice has its place. But I also believe the best souvenirs are new perspectives.

The name No Maps or Foot Tracks has taken on a deeper meaning over the years.

It was born from my own journey into the unknown and inspired by the song Still Wandering by Bronze Radio Return, whose lyrics carried me through some uncertain years. At first, the name was about having the courage to forge my own path in life.

It still is.

But today it also reflects the kind of traveler I hope this blog inspires us to become.

Use the map to get where you're going.

Then put it away for a while.

Talk to someone. Wander a different street. Learn the history. Ask another question. Stay a little longer.

Because the places that change us most are rarely the ones we simply visit.

They're the ones we truly connect with, the ones we take the time to more deeply understand.

You can find me posting in real-time at @nomapsamber and @nomapsorfoottracks on Instagram and at No Maps or Foot Tracks on Facebook.