My Husband and I Sold Everything at 55 Years Old to Travel the World

When we locked the door to our family home for the last time, I didn’t feel brave. I felt as though everything I’d ever known was slipping away, piece by piece. But the truth was, it was time for something different, something bigger. My hand lingered on the doorknob, the weight of what we were doing pressing on my chest. This house was where we raised our four daughters, hosted countless birthday and holiday dinners, and watched our nine grandkids run barefoot through the backyard and splash in the pool. Now, it was empty—sold, along with our cars, our furniture, and even the physical therapy business we’d spent years building.

My husband, Shayne, and I exchanged a glance, almost daring the other to change their mind. Honestly, I almost did. But it was too late.

We were empty nesters in our 50s, who’d spent years building a business, a home, and a life in Arizona. But at some point, it all started to feel heavy—not bad, just predictable. It was like we were living the same Tuesday on repeat. So we traded it all for two suitcases, a backpack, one-way tickets to Bali, and a dream we couldn’t fully explain: to see the world slowly, intentionally, and on a limited budget. We weren’t retired. We weren’t trust-fund babies. We were just determined to squeeze every drop of meaning from the time we had left.

But standing on that porch with the keys in my hand, I didn’t feel bold. I felt terrified.

The Leap

The decision didn’t come overnight. It began as a whisper—an idea we tossed around during vacations, long walks around our neighborhood, and while floating in the pool. But the whisper grew louder, and soon, I found myself thinking more and more about my mom, Sandy.

She had always dreamed of traveling once she retired. She even mapped out trips to work on her passion for genealogy, but she passed away from cancer just eight months before that day ever came.

That truth haunted me. It reminded me we were all waiting too long—for the grandkids to grow, for the business to settle, for the mythical “right time” that never arrives with a calendar invite.

So, one day, we stopped waiting.

We launched Jet Set Club, a business that sends daily international flight deals to our subscribers, helping them find affordable ways to explore the world. Along with our travel blog, Jetset Petersons, we created a small income stream that allowed us to continue living our dream. We sold everything, cut our expenses to the bone, and used our savings to fund this adventure. We tracked every dollar and vowed to live with a lot less. After a while, we realized we missed having a “home base” when we returned to the U.S., and the cost of renting Airbnbs was adding up. So we bought a small condo, which we use when we’re in town and rent out on Airbnb when we’re not.

We started in Bali, where we rented a villa with a private pool for $900 a month. We swapped Target runs for market stalls, dinner dates with $1 noodles at warungs, and errands in the car for scooter rides through the jungle to discover waterfalls. At first, it was unnerving. We didn’t speak the language, we had no plan beyond the next month, and we didn’t even know if we’d like it.

But in the stillness, something shifted. We were living with less—and somehow feeling more.

Moments That Changed Us

Travel didn’t just change how we saw the world—it changed how we moved through it.

In Thailand, we woke to the sound of birds, the air thick with jasmine—a simplicity that felt more profound than anything we had ever known back home. We learned to ride scooters (barely), take off our shoes before entering temples, and how to spot the best khao soi in a sea of food stalls. With just two suitcases each, we felt lighter—physically and emotionally—than we had in years.

In Spain, we traveled slowly through neighborhoods instead of tourist attractions. We bought fruit at the market, ate dinner at 10 p.m., and got lost in the Gothic Quarter more times than we could count. We weren’t on vacation—we were just living differently. Life felt slower. Sharper.

In France, we wandered through charming neighborhoods, enjoying quiet moments in tiny cafes, savoring the simple joy of a fresh, buttery croissant. In Paris, we strolled along the Seine, taking in the beauty of the city’s art, architecture, and culture while averaging mor ethan 20,000 steps a day. It was there that we truly understood the beauty of unhurried living—the way the French do it so effortlessly.

Not every moment went as planned. Take the time we misread the visa requirements for Vietnam and had to make a last-minute detour to Cambodia. We landed with no hotel, no itinerary, and absolutely no clue—yet somehow, we ended up at a charming boutique inn where the staff treated us like old friends. We visited Angkor Wat three days in a row, awestruck by its beauty. It turned into one of those happy surprises that made the journey all the more unforgettable.

Turns out, the best memories aren’t the ones we plan. They’re the ones that catch us by surprise and remind us how adaptable—and deeply human—we all are.

What We Gave Up—and Gained

People often ask us what the hardest part is. It’s not the long flights, the unfamiliar languages, or even the money. It’s missing our people.

We left behind four daughters, nine grandkids, lifelong friends, and the comfort of a family and home we’d spent years building. We miss birthdays, soccer games, and dance recitals. We miss Sunday dinners, messy art projects, and bedtime giggles when babysitting the grandkids.

Sometimes, the grief of that distance sneaks in quietly—over a blurry FaceTime call or an empty chair at the holiday table.

But what we’ve gained is something precious: presence.

Without the noise of a busy life, we listen better—to each other and to ourselves. Our mornings are slow and full of conversation. We’ve laughed more in the past two years than we did in the 10 before. We’ve argued less. We’ve marveled more.

We’ve also redefined what “home” means. It’s not a zip code or a mortgage. Home is wherever we feel peace—whether we’re savoring street food in Amsterdam, wandering rice terraces in Bali, or standing hand-in-hand at the edge of the South Pacific Sea, wondering how we ever lived so small in such a big, beautiful world.

We’ve been married for 36 years, and through it all—raising kids, building businesses, and now traveling the world—we’ve learned how to support each other in ways we never imagined. Every adventure, every challenge, has only strengthened our bond, reminding us the best part of this journey is doing it together.

Living With Intention at Home

Coming home briefly to the U.S. a few times a year is always a reminder of how much we’ve changed. Where once we rushed through errands, appointments, and the usual whirlwind of daily life, we now approach these moments with more intention. We spend more time with family, relishing the conversations and moments that used to get lost in the noise. We’re more thoughtful about what we purchase, what we prioritize, and how we spend our time. We’ve learned that the quality of time matters far more than the quantity, whether we’re at a family gathering or simply enjoying a quiet afternoon at home. Our travels taught us that life is about the moments in between, and now, we bring that mindset home, making every day feel just a little more meaningful.

The Life We Didn’t Know We Were Waiting For

Here we are, two years later. We’ve traveled to 14 countries, lived on less than $3,000 a month, and found a life that’s less about checking boxes and more about saying “yes” and collecting moments.

This isn’t just a story about travel—it’s about permission. The kind you give yourself to start over at any age. To trade comfort for curiosity. To realize it’s never too late—or too expensive—to choose a life that finally feels like yours.

We didn’t just downsize our belongings. We downsized the pressure, the pace, and the expectations that once defined us. It wasn’t easy at first, but letting go of those old definitions of success made room for something more meaningful: joy, growth, and a deeper connection to each other and the world around us. What we’ve learned is that the life we were truly waiting for wasn’t found in a place or in things—it was found in the choice to live with intention, to say “yes” to what truly matters, and to embrace the unknown together, with open arms.