This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Sharonda Scott, 37, an LA-based stuntwoman. It’s been edited for length and clarity.
Two years ago, at 35, I decided to take what I now call my “radical sabbatical.”
My life in Los Angeles had turned into a whirlwind of auditions, stunts, and constant training. I had been working in the entertainment industry as a stuntwoman and actor since I was 30, but by early 2024, after the writers’ and actors’ strikes, I hit a wall.
The industry had slowed to a trickle, my savings were tight, and I realized the way I was living — chasing gigs, enjoying luxury, yet constantly stressed — just wasn’t sustainable anymore.
I’ve always enjoyed traveling
I grew up in Detroit as the youngest of five, raised by a single mom. College took me to the University of Miami, where I switched from pre-med to international studies and spent time in Brazil learning Spanish and Portuguese.
After graduation, I worked in prostate cancer research but knew it wasn’t my path. I bounced between singing, fashion design, and volunteer work in Rio before moving to LA — where a background acting job unexpectedly led me into stunt work.
My first big break came when I got hired to be Miranda Bailey’s stunt double on “Grey’s Anatomy.”
But by January 2024, the industry was quiet, and I found myself anxious about bills despite careful saving.
I felt trapped. It was a conversation with a close friend that changed everything: “What do you really want?”
I admitted I wanted out
I wanted to travel and experience the world beyond LA. So I started imagining a sabbatical — not for a few weeks, but for a full year or more.
I didn’t have a detailed plan. I wrote down 12 countries I hoped to visit, sold everything in my LA apartment, broke my lease, and found someone to rent my car to cover the payments.
My friends and family were supportive; they helped me pack and even bought some of my things to help fund the trip. My rule was to spend no more than $500 per plane ticket, which wasn’t too hard since most were one-way.
First stop, India
People warned me about traveling solo as a woman in India, but from the moment I arrived, I felt welcomed.
What I thought would be a short stay became transformative. Two young girls who had experienced trauma arrived the same week, and we quickly became inseparable.
From there, the journey unfolded organically. My sister joined whenever she could get time off — she ended up traveling with me to 13 countries. Even my mom, who had feared flying for decades, caught up with me along the way.
We zip-lined along cliffs in Cape Verde, rode camels in Morocco, and cage-dived with sharks in South Africa. In Zimbabwe, we even cage-dived with crocodiles. We paraglided over Rio during Carnival and danced for hours at a salsa congress in Paris.
But I also found magic in the quieter moments — sharing meals with locals in Vietnam and Thailand, wandering Moroccan souks, and experiencing festivals and ceremonies through invitations from people I met on the road.
Some experiences were deeply personal
In the Philippines, I completed my divemaster certification, mastering skills I had been working toward for years. In Scotland, I celebrated a friend’s wedding, reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen in years.
Traveling solo forced me to problem-solve constantly: exchanging currency, navigating transportation, finding food, and making friends in unfamiliar cultures.
As an introvert who thrives on connection, I discovered I could build community anywhere, and those relationships shaped my experience as much as the places themselves.
Travel reshaped my perspective
I slowed down, learned to trust the process, and stopped striving for the American dream as defined by society: the house, the car, the white picket fence. My dream became freedom — the ability to move, explore, and experience the world on my own terms.
Now, back in the US, I’m navigating reverse culture shock. Hollywood is pretty much decentralizing itself; auditions are scattered. I’m exploring new projects in travel filmmaking and documentary work.
But my long-term vision is clearer than ever: I want to live abroad.
Looking back, my advice for anyone considering an adult gap year is simple: don’t overthink it. Reduce your financial anchors, embrace flexibility, and trust the process.
Do you have a story about taking a gap year that you want to share? Get in touch with the editor: akarplus@businessinsider.com.
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