I Don’t Like Vacations – And You Can’t Convince Me Otherwise

People treat not liking vacations like it’s some kind of red flag. Like you’re broken or missing something if you don’t dream about flying out, exploring new places, or “getting away from it all.” But what they fail to realize is that not everybody wants the same kind of peace. Some of us already have what we want and need right where we are. We don’t need an escape. We don’t need to be impressed. And we’re not secretly depressed—we’re just content.

I’ve never been the type of person to crave traveling or feel the itch to go somewhere just for the sake of going. The truth is, I like my space. I like my setup. My home is a reflection of my needs, my mood, and my lifestyle. I’ve got my comfort, my food, my entertainment, and everything I need to feel at peace. So the whole idea that I’m supposed to crave being somewhere else just because society made vacations seem like the reward for hard work doesn’t click for me. People say, “You gotta get out! You need to see the world!” But why? What is out there that I can’t see right here? I’ve got a phone. I’ve got internet access. I can literally explore any part of the world from my living room with better angles, better lighting, and zero bugs flying in my face. I can learn about other cultures, view locations, even walk down digital streets in 3D if I want to. That whole “you need to experience it” argument doesn’t land with me because it assumes that I’m missing out on something—but I’m not. I’ve experienced enough to know what I prefer. And I prefer stillness over stimulation.

Every time I do go somewhere, it just confirms what I already knew: I want to be back home. The entire process feels more like a chore than a reward. Sitting in a cramped car or on a delayed flight just to be somewhere I don’t even care to be? That doesn’t excite me—it drains me. Then there’s the heat, the cold, the crowds, the lines, the traffic, the lack of control over your environment. You’re at the mercy of outside elements, other people’s schedules, and a bunch of unpredictable nonsense that makes everything feel like more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t enjoy that kind of chaos. It’s not adventurous to me—it’s uncomfortable. Even something as simple as hotel pillows or not having your usual bathroom setup can throw off your whole mood. But people will still try to hype it up like you’re being negative if you say that. I’m not being negative—I just don’t like being inconvenienced in the name of “fun.”

People like to romanticize vacations like they’re the peak of happiness, but they never want to talk about the parts that suck. The planning, the packing, the cost, the delays, the miscommunications, the exhaustion. It’s not this dreamy, magical thing every time. Most of the time, it’s a series of mini-stressors disguised as adventure. And that’s what people ignore. I don’t want my peace to come with a checklist and a carry-on. I want it simple, quiet, and uninterrupted. The fact that I can get that from home is not a flaw—it’s a win.

And the biggest thing people don’t understand is that going on a vacation doesn’t actually change your life. You go, you feel good for a moment, and then you come back to your same reality. Your job is still waiting. Your bills are still there. Your mindset hasn’t evolved just because you ate pasta in Italy. It’s a temporary high. And chasing that high doesn’t appeal to me. Why would I put all this effort into leaving a peaceful situation just to get a quick dopamine hit that fades as soon as I’m back at the airport? That’s not fulfillment—that’s escapism. And I don’t want to escape. I want to build a life that doesn’t need escaping from in the first place. That’s why my space matters. That’s why home is my peace.

It’s wild how people can’t accept that preference. Like they can’t fathom that someone might not value what they value. I’m not judging those who love to travel. If that’s your thing, do it. But I don’t need it. I don’t feel incomplete without it. If anything, I feel more whole being still. Not being dragged around to take forced photos, wear “vacation fits,” and pretend I’m enjoying something just to say I did it. That’s not me. I’m not interested in collecting moments to flex or impress. I’m interested in living how I like, in a way that feels honest and grounded.

Imagine this: every day you get a full-course meal served to you exactly how you like it. The flavors, the timing, the presentation—perfect. But then someone comes along and says, “If you want dessert, you gotta hike up this mountain to get it.” Or—you could have this gum that tastes just like cake, right at your seat. Why would I go climb for cake when I already got everything I need right here? That’s what vacation feels like to me. Like an overhyped hike for a piece of cake I don’t even crave. I’ll take the gum. You can keep the cake.