How To Plan A Trip When You Have ADHD

How To Plan A Trip When You Have ADHD

BY ISABEL RAVENNA

I’ve been known to lose sleep to the fantasy of travel. Lit only by my laptop screen, I’ve spent hours staring at flickering images of Tuscan villas and Costa Rican treehouses, adding them to my “Wanderlust” Pinterest board, my excitement doubling with every new search result. Getting ahead of myself, I start to open tabs — 20 for hotels, 10 for flights, another handful for YouTube vlogs, my eyes darting between Skyscanner, Kayak, Airbnb, and Rome2Rio — each promising clarity and adventure but multiplying the chaos.  

Eventually,  I’ll rest my eyes, falling asleep to the vision of sipping a café crème on a Juliet Balcony in a slip dress, the Eiffel Tower in the near distance. 

But when my alarm goes off, and I inevitably return to my laptop, the horror: 50 tabs across 3 windows stare back at me. Terrified by the idea of engaging with them, I panic and shut everything down. Phew. That was a close one. Almost booked a flight. Or worse — a hotel.

Travel can be a kind of drug for neurodivergents like me.

Our brains are designed to light up with novelty, stimulation, and sensory richness. That’s why we thrive when stepping into a new place, tasting a strange flavor, or even checking into a quirky hotel. 

But the same brains that love being there often falter at the unglamorous parts of travel — getting there. If the idea of travel lights up my brain, it’s the planning process that smothers it in paperwork, pop-ups, and overwhelm. Wanderlust collides with Google Chrome, and unfortunately for me — wanderlust usually loses, turning the dream into a cycle of too many tabs, half-packed bags, and near-missed flights. 

In my case, I was raised by a mother with long-unacknowledged ADHD, who gave me the travel bug — showing me Italy, Nicaragua, Bourbon Street, and even a couple Wonders of the World. That’s the allure: travel gives ADHD brains the rush, focus, and glow that everyday life rarely does. 

The only catch is that to get there, you’ve got to figure out where you’re going.

As much as I crave the novelty of hopping on a plane and seeing a new place, the executive function required to plan and pack can feel paralyzing.

But avoiding travel forever isn’t an option for me. I love it too much. So I’ve had to figure out how to work with my brain instead of against it. These are my travel strategies that maximize novelty seeking while minimizing executive function overload:

Set Boundaries With Planning

I’ve learned to limit how long I spend searching before I make a choice. I plan with a clear goal: select exciting, convenient, and affordable options without slipping into chaos by scouring for something better. 

Is this hotel just as beautiful as the last one, and more affordable? Then book it. Hyperfixating on research only turns it into chaos. So now, if a destination or resort sparks excitement, I remind myself — sometimes aloud with a headshake — to not muddle things by looking for better. If the logistics of the flight I’ve opened 5 different times work for me, book it before you lose the seat and the motivation. 

Buddy Up

The buddy system worked fine in grade school, so why not use the strategy on the road? I’ve leaned hard on the neurotypical planners in my life — the partners and friends who track the trains, bring the chargers, and secure the passports. 

But beware: reliance can come with guilt — the quiet resentment of always being the chaos among the competent. In turn, I’ve not asked for help and instead quietly fallen behind. I’ve let my phone die, rather than admitting I forgot a charger. I’ve pretended that I’d prefer not to listen to music, instead of explaining that I can’t without earbuds.

To counter this, I’ve learned to make a quick division of labor before traveling: my partner takes on tickets and IDs, while I handle packing food and comfort items. We both make check lists, set alarms, and agree to be honest about our expectations — an excursion might need to be a day-of decision, or we might remember to grab an extra room key on arrival so neither of us gets locked out. Sharing the load keeps us from spiraling and makes the mayhem feel a little more manageable. And above all, I know better than to travel with a buddy who doesn’t allow this kind of flexibility.

Become A Pouch Girl

When it comes to packing, I’ve embraced a game-changer that might sound basic, but feels extraordinary: pouches. I’ve become a big “pouch” girl — breaking my items into categories and intentionally assigning them a home has been incredibly helpful. Since I know my comfortability while traveling can be totally blown by loose items, I now gather every pouch-esque container I can find — from neglected makeup bags to mesh laundry bags, transforming each one into a soft block — for intimates, chargers, toiletries, socks, and whatever else. And only then, Tetris can commence.

Nothing But Travel On Travel Days

As for time blindness — I’m early now. Travel days have become sacred days, kept solely for the primary expedition, because I know that if I try to fit in a last-minute errand or see one final sight, I’m checked out, obsessively glancing at the time, counting down the minutes, and still rushing through the train station or airport like my trip depends on it… because it does.

Crossbody Bags For Travel Days

I’ve always meant to buy a tracker for my wallet and keys, but alas — ADHD. So instead, I’ve become a crossbody bag convert. They’re my answer to the chaos of backpacks. No digging, no squirming, no stress when TSA inevitably asks for my ID or boarding pass again. With everything in easy reach, I can move quickly through airports instead of feeling weighed down or frustrated by the fidgeting required with a heavy, overpacked backpack.

Accepting My Brain — As It Is

The secret, I’ve learned, to neurodivergent travel isn’t fighting your brain. It’s understanding it. Our nature embodies the very spirit of travel — the urge to step into a new street, taste a strange flavor, or watch the stars from an angle you’ve never stood before.

So above all, I show myself compassion. Nothing’s perfect. If I miss a flight, I’ll figure it out. And if I make it, I get to enjoy the ride.

And no, I can’t promise I won’t forget my charger — in fact, I most likely will — but I can promise you that I’ll find the best taco stand in town and turn the experience into a bucket-list moment you didn’t know you needed. 

BIO: Isabel Ravenna is a culture journalist whose work appears in National Geographic, Complex, Business Insider, and others. She also writes The Ravenna Report, a weekly newsletter of sharp cultural analysis, overlooked history and personal insight.