In Pursuit of the Unfamiliar 

There is a word that has always intrigued me: neophobic. It describes an aversion to novelty, a reluctance to step beyond the familiar and embrace new experiences, whether that be an unfamiliar food, a different route home, a new perspective, or a place unvisited.

Less commonly used is its opposite: neophile. Someone drawn not necessarily to the unknown, but to the unfamiliar; to places, people and experiences that sit beyond the boundaries of routine.

For some, comfort is found in the familiar. For others, vitality lies in fresh perspectives, new environments and experiences that challenge established patterns. The attraction is not to risk or adventure for its own sake, but to the subtle expansion that occurs whenever we encounter something we have not experienced before.

This way of being is not a conscious choice, it is more an instinct. I’ve always veered away from what might be called ‘the ordinary’, not in any dismissive sense, but simply because something in me is always scanning for what lies just beyond it. I thrive in unfamiliar streets, in cities where the layout is yet to unfold, in landscapes where the visuals are fresh to my eyes. I find joy in small acts of discovery: the best sunset spot sighted due to a wrong turn, a hidden café at the end of a blind alley, or a stretch of coastline too windy to entice the crowds.

So, a traditional holiday of rest and stillness has never quite been my thing. I travel to switch on, not off. Movement, exploration, long days of walking, observing, absorbing; this is where the dopamine fills its cavern.  This type of trip offers a kind of recalibration. I want to return from time away feeling windswept, reset, and charged again by the world itself. Not sedated by rest and alcohol but restored by experience.

Which raises a question I’ve been circling for a while: what does that actually look like, on paper, on a map, in real life?

I’m writing this from a windy Atlantic beach on the northern coast of Portugal. The main stretch of sand is too exposed to sit comfortably, so I’ve retreated into the shelter of a cleverly designed beach bar, gently swinging on a wooden seat that moves with the rhythm of the wind. From here, I can watch the Atlantic in full motion; restless, vast, unrepentantly alive. I find myself thinking about the effect of the ocean. In its secrecy, without seeking permission, it slows our breath. We take deeper inhalations as the body recognises something the mind has forgotten; how to achieve a deep state of calm.

We are also naturally drawn to horizons, to that indecipherable line where the sky meets the sea, or does the sea meet the sky? We fix our gaze, and this fascination pulls us away from the internal loops of thought we so easily get trapped in. Along with the constant motion of waves, there comes a hypnotic steadiness. A rhythm which drowns out the noise of our day to day.

So here, and by any ocean, I notice my mind softening. The usual clutter of planning and processing begins to loosen its grip. Thoughts do not dissolve, but they stop insisting on attention with so much volume. There is a type of recalibration that happens in ocean environments, as the nervous system stills in order to recall a slower, long-forgotten tempo.

And perhaps this is a slice of the answer I’ve been looking for: why do places with such wilderness feel so naturally restorative. It is not escape, it is exposure: to scale, to space, to elements that are indifferent to us in the most grounding way.

Wellbeing, I’m starting to realise, is not always found in withdrawal from the world. Sometimes it is found in deeper participation with it; in new places, unfamiliar paths, unexpected conversations, and the act of paying close attention to things you have never seen before.

In that sense, what I’ve been pursuing is not simply travel, or even wellness in the traditional sense. It is something closer to a state of alert presence, a way of being in the world that requires curiosity as its foundation.

I’ve been in pursuit of the unfamiliar, and in doing so, a return to something fundamentally essential: the ability to be moved by the world again.

Belle Amatt is a registered Nutrition Consultant. For any advice or consultations reach out at www.belleamatt.com

Or check out her Instagram page @bellenutrition