Should I feel guilty for travelling?

Since the start of my travels early this year, this question has plagued me – with every photo I’ve shared on Instagram, every post published on my blog, and every story I’ve recounted to a friend. With most of the population currently slaving through the winter months in challenging programs or tiring jobs, it’s hard to justify horseback riding in Spain.

When these thoughts come up, my first line of defense is telling myself I worked hard. I’ve worked since I was 13 to pay my tuition, become financially independent, and save up for a low-budget backpacking trip and visit home to Vietnam. How I spend my earnings should be up to me.

That said, I’ve also had enormous privilege – of living with my parents through university, of receiving grants and paying domestic student fees, of being a Canadian citizen who feels at home in this country, and of not having my status depend on my job or my degree. The vast majority of people in the world work at least as hard, but few can afford to take a 3-month leave from work. I’m extremely fortunate that I’m allowed this chance and recognize that every day.

However, I’m also getting tired of feeling bad for taking breaks.

In the midst of a society obsessed with productivity, in a family that values every second of “doing something useful,” I grew up with a fire lit under me, as most immigrant children do. This mindset is understandable for low-income families who have no other choice to make ends meet. It meant that growing up, I was always on the move – volunteering, working triple jobs overtime, starting new initiatives, running another club, writing more articles. I worked myself to exhaustion and depression and panic attacks, as I’ve written about before. Yet even then, I was asked why exactly I needed a massage, why my energy was failing me at 22. I felt guilty every time I slept in, and I’m sick of it.

I love working in the non-profit world, but so often, it is where such unrealistic expectations live. We work for the love of what we do and who we help. I always have, and that’s not only my choice but also a privilege. However, because of that expectation, how many hours have we worked unpaid? How many years for minimum wage or a couple dollars over? How many nights have we stayed up until daybreak? Is that supposed to be normal?

Always, more can be done. Always, more people can be helped, but it is not selfish to take time for yourself. It is not a bad thing to want to be paid what you deserve. It is okay to not always be productive, and I still find myself fighting against snide comments and self-doubt to believe that.

Now of course, if you’re a millionaire going on an extravagant vacation, no one cares, and likely, neither do you. You’ve earned it. Somehow, we still labour under the delusion that the more money you have, the harder you work, and therefore, those making the big bucks get a pass. It is a bonus if they engage in meaningful charity work, an act of generosity if they donate. It is well deserved if they choose to take long breaks while the rest are shamed for taking advantage of any indulgence.

Those living paycheque to paycheque get used to feeling like nothing will ever be enough – never enough work, never enough hours, never enough pride. As self-explanatory as this sentence should sound, it’s about time we stop putting responsibility on low-income earners to remain not only tireless but also charitable.

And I’m fighting now to not feel guilty, because I’m done buying into that.