Wandering with a Wandering Mind: Travel and ADHD

Adventures with Benaiah, my brain, and a suitcase full of good intentions 
 
Travelling with ADHD is a vibe. A chaotic, colourful, occasionally exhausting vibe. Add a very organised, very neurotypical husband to the mix (hi, Benaiah!) and what you get is not just a trip… but a comedy of (mis)adventures. 
 
Don’t get me wrong, we both love exploring new places. From sunset beach walks to airport cheeseboard snacks, his lager, and my mocktail with a coconut rum shot… we’re all in. But while Benaiah thrives on structure, plans, and ticking off the itinerary in tidy order, my ADHD brain is more like: ‘Ooh, what’s down that random alley with the twinkly lights and zero signage? Let’s go there. No, I don’t know where it leads. No, I haven’t checked the time. Yes, we just missed the boat. Oops.’ 

Same destination, different operating systems 

If Benaiah is the compass, I’m the wind; changing direction without warning, chasing sunbeams, street musicians, or an alley that smells like apple crumble and mystery. 
 
Meanwhile, Benaiah’s already bought tickets to the museum, scheduled a coffee stop, and figured out where we’ll be watching the sunset. All before I’ve found my passport (which was literally just in my hand two seconds ago). 

The packing saga

Let’s talk packing, or as I call it, ‘an extended identity crisis.’ 
 
Benaiah folds things. With intention. He has a list. He follows it. His socks match. 
 
I, on the other hand, begin packing with wild optimism and zero plan. I get distracted halfway through by outfit try-ons, end up emotionally attached to a pair of shoes I haven’t worn since 2017, and somehow pack six pairs of sunglasses but forget underwear. 

Every. Time.

Benaiah used to find this baffling and pretty jarring. Now, he just calmly asks, “Have you packed the basics?” (Code for: “Please tell me you brought underwear.”) God bless him. 
 
Airport mode: activated 
 
Airports bring out the full contrast in our personalities. 
 
Benaiah: Calm. Focused. Documents in hand. Security line ninja. 
 
Me: Already bored in the queue. Trying to guess people’s star signs. Wondering if I have snacks. Forgetting if I put my liquids in the clear bag. Remembering. Forgetting again. 
 
And yet somehow, it works. I bring the chaos, he brings the structure. I spot the hidden café with oat milk matcha and rooftop views. He ensures we don’t miss the plane. Dream team? Maybe. Survival team? Definitely. 

Adventure by adaptation

The thing is, ADHD doesn’t stop me from loving travel. In fact, I thrive on the newness. My brain lights up with novelty. New sounds, smells, cultures, textures… It’s like feeding it vitamins. 
 
But I’ve learned that I need to travel my way. That means: 
• Flexibility in the schedule 
• Room for spontaneous detours (emotional and geographical) 
• Snack management (hanger is real) 
• Regular resets (quiet moments, binaural beats, staring at the sea) 
 
And Benaiah? He’s learned to build wiggle room into our plans. To factor in ‘Nicole-time’, which includes surprise outfit changes, brief existential tangents, and the occasional distraction by local dogs. 

Same trip, different experience

Here’s what I find fascinating: we can be standing in the same square in Bari Old Town, eating the same pasta dish, and having completely different experiences. 
 
Benaiah is absorbing the history, appreciating the architecture, following the map. 
 
I’m mentally writing a poem about the tile patterns, wondering what this place would’ve looked like 200 years ago, and debating whether I’ve just invented the perfect travel snack business (don’t worry, I haven’t followed through… yet). 
 
And honestly? Both experiences are valid. Beautiful, even. That’s the magic of travelling with someone who sees the world differently… you see more of it, together. 

Loving across the Neurodivergent divide

Travelling together as a neurodivergent/neurotypical couple has taught us so much… mostly patience, humour, and the power of snacks. 
 
But seriously; we’ve learned how to meet in the middle. Benaiah’s structure gives me grounding. My spontaneity brings him “surprice” (it’s an inside joke… don’t ask). When I get overwhelmed by sensory overload or decision fatigue, he helps anchor me. When he gets a bit too focused on the “plan,” I nudge him toward the unexpected joy of getting lost on purpose. 
 
We’re opposites in many ways, but we’re also each others’ compass. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. 

TL;DR: Embrace the Chaos, Honour the calm

If you’re neurodivergent and love to travel… or love someone who is…  
 
Here’s what I’ll say: it’s okay if your version of adventure looks a bit different. It’s okay to need rest while sightseeing. To cry in the middle of a train station (been there). To pack weird things and forget obvious ones. 
 
What matters is that you keep going. That you keep wandering, even if your mind wanders too. 
 
And if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll have a Benaiah by your side… Steady, supportive, and always ready with the map (and, ideally, a snack). 

Until the next adventure…

I’ll be somewhere half-packed, mentally in three places, with a decaf iced latte in hand…And Benaiah patiently waiting by the door, holding the actual itinerary and probably my passport. 
 
Wish us luck.🧳🧠✈️