There was a time I thought hotels were for a certain kind of person and I wasn't it. I chased the beautiful hostels — the design ones, the women-only ones, all light and art and good company. And for a while, that was exactly right.
It isn't about a number and it isn't about a budget. It's about taste, and taste grows up.
What changed
Somewhere along the way, sharing a room stopped being an adventure and started being a subtraction. Now — heaven forbid I share a room. I want the quiet, the door that closes, the space that's only mine. Not because I decided to be fancier. Because I finally knew what I actually wanted, and stopped pretending the noise was part of the charm.
That's the whole arc: not "I got old" and not "I could suddenly afford more." Just a slow, honest recalibration of what I'll trade and what I won't. I'll still fly economy and sleep like a baby. I won't give up the room.