How Traveling Helps You Cope With Grief After Mourning
USEFUL TRAVEL INFORMATION
Forth Zone
4/9/20256 min read
As it is the norm in many funeral gatherings worldwide, making brief speeches in memory of the departed is part of mourning. I am generally an emotional type, so everyone expected I’ll breakdown if at all I attempt to speak at the funeral. As a true follower of Christ - “Jesus wept”, well, I tend to weep a lot when mourning my loved ones – in fact, I remember recently I wept the whole night, from the moment I received the bad news. Later on at the funeral, speaker after speaker broke down crying, but I promised myself that day I won’t shed a tear. When I finally gathered enough courage to speak, the mourners silence was imposing. I didn’t need introduction. Before long, I gently but respectfully hit the mourners with a joke and built on it in measured succession until everyone was laughing. As I mourned my loved one with jokes, I never shed tears but I helped wipe the mourners’ tears. And when I later decided to take a travel therapy, my grieving had less relapses of mourning rumination.
Grief is a landscape no one chooses to traverse. It arrives uninvited, reshaping our world into something unrecognizable. After losing someone you loved deeply, you feel untethered—like a boat adrift in a storm. The pain is relentless, and the well-meaning advice to “give it time” feels hollow. Let us explore how stepping into the unknown—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—can help you navigate loss and rediscover hope.
Losing someone close often shatters our sense of self. Travel became a laboratory for self-discovery. Trekking solo through the wilderness, you learn resilience. Getting lost in Venice’s alleys teaches you to embrace uncertainty. Volunteering at an animal sanctuary rekindles your capacity for compassion. With each journey, you rebuild yourself—not as the person you were before the loss, but as someone stronger, more adaptable, and more deeply connected to the world.
Grief often traps us in cycles of rumination. It often reminds people of the past (regrets, memories) or the future (fear of loneliness). On the bright side, traveling forces one into the present. Navigating a foreign city, deciphering a menu in another language, or figuring out public transit requiring your full attention. These small challenges became exercises in mindfulness, grounding you in the "now." We replay memories, agonize over “what ifs,” and feel paralyzed by the weight of absence. Psychology tells us that physical movement can disrupt these patterns. When you travel, every step forward—whether hiking a mountain or wandering a cobblestone street—becomes a metaphor for progress.
Dr. Alan Wolfelt, a renowned grief counselor, emphasizes that “mourning requires motion.” Travel forces us to engage our bodies: carrying luggage, walking through airports, or kayaking down a river. These actions release endorphins, counteracting the lethargy of depression. In Japan, a concept known as "mono no aware," that translates to "the pathos of things" refers to the bittersweet awareness of impermanence. It resonates deeply that the departed’s absence was a permanent change, but so are the cherry blossoms outside, fleeting yet beautiful. Travel can’t erase your grief, but it can help you see it as part of life’s impermanent tapestry.
Grief narrows our world. It convinces us that pain is all there is. Traveling thrusts us into unfamiliar settings—a bustling market in Marrakech, a serene Japanese garden, or a sunlit Greek island—where beauty and sorrow coexist. These places remind us that life persists, even in our absence. Grief isolates, but travel introduces us to strangers who become mirrors of our shared human experience. In hostels, on trains, or at street food stalls, you meet people who had survived unimaginable losses. Their stories won’t fix your pain, but they normalized it. Psychologist Dr. Megan Devine notes, “We heal in community.” Solo travel, paradoxically, fosters connection.
Traveling is not a panacea. There will be moments when grief would ambush you: a familiar song in a shower or a familiar laughter that echoed your lost one’s. Travel allows you to create new rituals to honor your loved ones when traditional ones fall short, lighting a candle in a centuries-old synagogue, whispering a prayer for the departed. These acts aren’t about closure but about continuing a relationship beyond physical presence. Scattering ashes in a meaningful location, writing letters to leave at landmarks, or dedicating a journey to a loved one’s memory can be profoundly cathartic.
Grief has no script. It doesn’t follow a schedule or adhere to societal expectations of "moving on." In the early days after loss of a loved one, your home—once a place of comfort—became a minefield of triggers. Their favorite chair, the scent of their perfume lingering in a closet, the unfinished book next to their lampstand—each detail feels like a fresh wound. Friends may advise you to "stay strong" or "keep busy," but their well-meaning words may only amplify your sense of isolation. One of grief’s cruelest ironies is that it makes you feel alone in a crowded room. Yet traveling solo introduces you to people who knew nothing about your loss—and that anonymity is liberating. Conversations with fellow travelers or locals isn’t tinged with pity or the weight of expectation. You become just a person, capable of joy.
Neuroscience suggests that novel environments stimulate neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to rewire itself. By disrupting habitual thought patterns, travel creates space for new narratives. Science supports what many cultures have known intuitively: a change of environment can rewire our brains. Studies show that new experiences stimulate neuroplasticity, helping break cycles of rumination common in grief. Landscapes—glaciers, black sand beaches, and geysers—can act as a reset button.
The sheer scale of nature’s beauty makes one’s pain feel smaller, less all-consuming. Standing at the edge of a waterfall, the roar of water drowning your thoughts, one tends to feel something you hadn’t in months: awe. Grief can narrow your world to a pinprick, but when you are surrounded by raw, untamed nature, one can easily remember that life is still vast and full of mysteries. The physical act of hiking, feeling your body strain and sweat, often reminds you that you are alive—a truth that grief had temporarily obscured.
Grief can make it easy to succumb to despair, to believe that suffering is all there is. But traveling exposed you to countless stories of resilience. Other people’s stories won’t minimize your pain but would remind you that healing is possible—and that it often begins with a single step forward.
Returning home after travel is on its own a kind of revelation. The same streets feel different because you are different. One often brings back souvenirs of resilience: a handmade journal filled with reflections, friendships that transcended borders, and the quiet certainty that you could survive the unthinkable. Grief, as you will learn, is not something to “get over.” It is a companion that changes in form and shape as you do. Travel teaches us to carry it with grace—to let it soften rather than shatter you. Grief never truly disappears; it changes shape, becoming a quieter companion. Travel won’t "fix" your pain, but it gives one the tools to carry it differently. It teaches you that the world is vast enough to hold both sorrow and wonder, that moving forward is not a betrayal of the past but a testament to love’s enduring impact.
If you’re considering traveling to navigate the loss of a loved one, here is what others have learnt:
Start small: A weekend trip to a nearby town can equally be as healing as an international adventure.
Embrace flexibility: Allow yourself to change plans if a destination feels overwhelming.
Journal: Writing helps process emotions that surface during travel.
Seek meaningful destinations: Go somewhere that resonates with your loved one’s spirit or your own needs.
Be kind to yourself: It’s okay to cry in a Swiss café or skip a scheduled tour to rest.
Plan, but stay flexible: Over-scheduling invites frustration. Allow time to rest.
Safety nets: Share your itinerary with someone trusted. Apps like TripIt provide real-time updates.
Honor your limits: It’s okay to cancel a tour or spend a day in bed. Healing is never linear.