Why I always keep a travel journal for speaking trips

Every speaking trip creates two versions of the event. The programme tells one: arrival times, keynotes, panels, dinner and the polished itinerary circulated days beforehand. My travel journal tells the other. It captures the question that stayed with me, the speaker who arrived without a laptop, the audience member who looked relieved and the tiny details that would otherwise vanish before I reach home. The point is to preserve a working record, not a perfect one.

I began keeping one because memory can turn a meaningful conversation into a vague impression. After a flight, a hotel room and a demanding day, I might remember the official topic but miss the emotional truth beneath it. Writing while the experience is still fresh helps me distinguish a passing observation from an insight worth carrying forward. It also gives me a private place to record fatigue, excitement and uncertainty without performing any of them for an audience.

That habit has become part of my creative process. The notes inform future speeches, leadership conversations, writing and the work connected with the This Girl Is On Fire platform. They remind me that resilience is rarely a grand gesture. More often, it is a series of small adjustments made while travelling, listening and staying open to what a new place reveals.

The notes that survive a demanding itinerary

On every trip, I carry a small, plain notebook in my cabin bag. It is light enough to ignore and accessible enough to use between journeys. Before leaving home, I write down the purpose of the trip, the people I hope to meet and anything that feels unresolved. Once I arrive, the format becomes simpler: the date, the city, a few observations and a question to carry with me. For visual context, I sometimes use visual storytelling tools, but a photograph records what happened while my journal captures what I understood.

Australia makes this habit especially valuable. Perth runs two hours behind Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane, while Adelaide sits halfway between the eastern states and the west. A keynote that begins at nine in the morning can arrive at a body clock still convinced it is seven. I note my sleep, the first conversation of the day and whether I feel present or operate from habit. Those details are useful when I plan future travel and honest reminders when I am comparing one performance with another.

There is also value in recording the atmosphere around the formal event. I may write about a crowded hotel foyer, coffee served in a paper cup before a conference session, or the walk from a meeting to a quiet street after dark. A late event near Melbourne’s laneways might leave me with an image of people talking easily beside a tram line as office workers headed home. Such details give a speech texture. They help me remember that an audience is made up of individuals arriving from very different days.

Reading the room, not relying on a stereotype

The Australian speaking circuit is geographically broad. Sydney and Melbourne have dense networks of corporate events, while Canberra offers a distinct government and policy audience. Brisbane and Perth each have their own professional communities, event calendars and cultural rhythms. Treating the country as one type of room would be careless. My journal helps me notice what is specific to each visit: the questions being asked, the local references people appreciate and the pace of the conversations around the session.

Most dates also arrive through a network of agents, conference producers, event companies and direct corporate bookings. The commercial structure matters because a speaking fee can cover very different expectations. Travel, accommodation, GST, technical support, recordings and cancellation terms may sit inside or outside the quoted amount. A clear record of those details prevents confusion later. It also shows where additional preparation is needed, such as adapting a presentation for a sixty-minute conference slot rather than a longer leadership session.

Conversation in many Australian business settings is refreshingly direct. People may say “no worries”, skip excessive formality and expect warmth without a long warm-up. That does not mean every room follows the same script, so I listen before adjusting my approach. The listening practice is why I value networking without small talk: asking what someone is working on often produces a better exchange than trying to fill every silence. The aim is genuine attention, not a polished performance of friendliness.

Turning observations into material that matters

When I return from a trip, I read the journal in chronological order. I highlight recurring themes, surprising questions, moments of connection and any part of the programme that felt forced. I also mark what I would do differently. Perhaps I arrived with too much material, asked the audience a question they could not answer easily or failed to leave enough space for discussion. This review turns scattered impressions into practical improvements for the next keynote.

One entry might contain a question from Brisbane about leading a team through uncertainty. Another might reveal that people in a Perth workshop wanted more time to discuss resilience with colleagues. Those details can become a new opening story, a sharper argument or a more relevant example for a leadership audience. They also keep my work connected to real needs. The strongest material often begins with someone else describing the pressure they are under.

The journal also protects other people. I never include a private conversation simply because it made a good story. Names are anonymised, permission is checked and identifying details are removed unless they are genuinely relevant and safe to share. This is especially important when travelling for talks about women’s health, wellbeing and empowerment. Personal stories deserve care. My notes are a record for reflection, not a supply of material to be used without judgement.

A simple system for the next departure

Before packing, I create a few pages for the journey. One holds the itinerary and practical information. Another is reserved for observations, while a third gathers questions, ideas and possible follow-up material. The system is deliberately light. If it takes too long to maintain, I stop using it.

• Carry a lightweight notebook in your cabin bag and write by hand whenever the moment allows.
• Give each city its own section, recording the date, venue type, travel conditions and one useful observation.
• Capture an audience question in the speaker’s own words, then confirm how it may be used.
• Note what felt energising, draining, clear and unresolved without judging yourself while writing.
• Keep fees, travel, accommodation, GST, cancellation terms and technical expectations in a separate practical section.

After the final event, I allow myself ten minutes for a closing entry. I record what the journey gave me, what it cost me energetically and which conversations deserve another conversation. This prevents the trip from ending as a collection of tasks completed. It also gives me time to decompress before turning notes into polished material. The aim is reflection without reliving every exhausting detail.

The practical pages are just as valuable. A journal can show the real cost of a booking once flights, transfers, hotels and production requirements are added. That clarity has become part of how I negotiate a speaking fee. An honest conversation begins with a precise brief: the audience, format, date, deliverables and who is responsible for each expense. Clear preparation allows me to protect both the value of the work and the boundaries around it.

Keeping work, wellbeing and curiosity in balance

A speaking trip can easily expand until every hour belongs to the event. Flights, media, rehearsals, dinners and panels leave little room for ordinary life. My journal keeps a record of whether I have slept, eaten properly, exercised and found a moment of quiet. Looking at those pages later is often more revealing than the photographs. They show where I felt energised by the work and where I simply kept moving because the itinerary demanded it.

Those reflections matter beyond travel. Leadership and resilience cannot be discussed while quietly ignoring exhaustion, isolation or the pressure to be constantly available. Taking a walk between engagements, writing before bed and leaving space after a long flight are practical acts of self-care. They make the work more sustainable and help me remain present with the people in front of me.

Current topics, formats and booking enquiries are available through Andrea McLean’s speaking work. My aim in each conversation is to find the right fit: an audience with a genuine need, a subject I can sustain and a format that allows honest exchange. The travel journal helps me keep that focus. It records what an event was meant to achieve and what the people in the room actually needed.

Different formats have different strengths, so I compare them like this:

The comparison confirms why paper remains central. A photograph may remind me where I stood, but only words reveal what I noticed and why it stayed with me. My journal preserves the human meaning of a speaking trip: the courage behind a question, the fatigue beneath a polished delivery and the connection that began after the official programme ended. Its value grows with every journey because it gives my experiences somewhere to live beyond the moment.