Why Do Our Values Change When We Travel?
When you point a finger at someone, you’ve got four more pointing back at yourself.
I say that because I need to say it about myself before I say anything else.
A few weeks ago I traveled for my fiftieth birthday. I chose the place partly because of its remoteness, its beauty, and its commitment to being an eco resort. Those things genuinely mattered to me when I was booking.
And then one night I woke up and kicked off my top blanket because I was a little warm. And I had this ridiculous, fleeting, completely bougie thought: *I wish they had AC so I could sleep with my heavy blankets the way I like to.*
I laughed at myself in the dark. I own a retreat center in Baja. I give sustainability orientations. I care deeply about treading lightly. And here I was, lying in a beautiful eco resort, mildly inconvenienced by the fact that it was running on solar.
At some point during the trip the owner and I got talking. She mentioned that people often love the idea of eco-friendly and solar — until they realize there’s no AC. She laughed about her fans, how much cool air they actually move, how guests are always surprised. But some people still can’t get past it.
I didn’t mention my midnight thought. I just listened. Because I had been that person.
It started with sheets.
Every year at Topia we go through our linens. We mend what can be mended, replace elastic, repair small holes, decide what needs to be repurposed. This year I shared the process on stories and asked people where they draw the line.
The responses were thoughtful. Nuanced. Honestly, they made me feel like we’ve built exactly the community we hoped to build.
But one comment stuck with me: *Should it be normalized?*
And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Here’s the tension I sit in every single day.
A sheet can be perfectly clean, structurally sound, expensive, high quality, with years of life left in it — and still get pulled from service because of sunscreen staining. Not because it’s dirty. Because it no longer looks the way guests expect it to look.
Think about how many sheets get thrown away every single day across hotels, resorts, and retreat centers around the world. Not because they’re worn out. Because they don’t look perfect anymore.
At home, most of us repair things. We reuse things. We try to reduce waste. We talk about sustainability like it matters — because it does.
But when we travel? We want pristine sheets. Fresh towels every day. Everything to feel brand new. And somewhere in the back of our minds, we want someone else to deal with the consequences of all of it.
Why?
My theory is escapism. When we’re home, we’re responsible. When we travel, we want a break from responsibility. We want ease. We want comfort. We want to stop thinking about problems for a few days.
And I think the word “luxury” makes it worse. When something gets labeled luxury, it gives people a quiet permission slip to stop caring. Someone else is handling it. I’m paying for that. It becomes someone else’s problem. That’s exactly why I bristle when people use that word about Topia — because I don’t want anyone walking through our doors with that mindset. The environmental consequences don’t disappear just because you’re on vacation and paid a lot of money.
And I get it. I really do. I just lived it on my fiftieth birthday trip.
But here’s what bothers me: escapism, when it comes to the environment, isn’t actually a break from the problem. It is the problem. The hospitality industry generates an extraordinary amount of waste — sheets, towels, packaging, plastic, food — and a lot of it is driven not by necessity but by expectation. Our expectation. The guest’s expectation.
I’m not arguing for dirty sheets. I want to be really clear about that.
There is a difference between dirty and stained. Between worn out and intentionally maintained. Between neglect and sustainability. Guests absolutely deserve clean. The question is whether they also require perfect.
And the deeper question — the one I can’t stop sitting with — is this: are we asking businesses to be sustainable while simultaneously punishing them for the visible signs of sustainability? Are we the ones making it impossible?
I don’t have a clean answer. At Topia, heavily sunscreen-stained sheets get repurposed. Small holes get mended. Worn elastic gets replaced. We extend useful life wherever we can. I’m not brave enough to put a visibly stained sheet on a guest bed and call it a sustainability initiative — but I am willing to question why that expectation exists in the first place.
Maybe the person who asked “should it be normalized” was onto something. Maybe we tie dye the sheets. Maybe there’s a solution none of us have thought of yet. Maybe the answer is just that we start talking about it more honestly.
What I really want — the only thing I’m actually asking — is this:
Before you travel somewhere, take a minute. Think about what you actually value. Think about what you’re bringing with you — not just in your suitcase, but in your expectations. Think about whether the version of you that shows up as a guest is the same version of you that lives at home.
Because the most powerful thing the travel industry has going for it is us. The guests. The travelers. The people who could decide, collectively, that consciousness doesn’t get a vacation.
Even on your fiftieth birthday.
Even when you’re paying a lot of money.
Even when it’s mildly inconvenient.
Especially then.
