From the outside, I had it all. A million followers across platforms. Luxury brand partnerships. TV appearances. Non-stop travel to dream destinations. My family and I had carved out a unique niche in the creator economy, showing that luxury travel didn't have to stop when you had kids.
But here's what no one tells you about "making it" as a content creator: Sometimes the very thing you worked so hard to build becomes the thing that holds you back. And when that happens, you face a choice that feels impossible—do you keep pushing forward on a path that no longer serves you, or do you have the courage to step back?
Let me take you back to 2016, when this journey began. I noticed something interesting: plenty of media outlets covered family travel, but they focused almost exclusively on budget options. Meanwhile, luxury travel coverage rarely acknowledged families at all. There was this whole audience being ignored—parents who'd grown accustomed to a certain way of traveling and didn't want to completely change their lifestyle just because they had kids.
That observation became Top Flight Family. Our mission was simple: show people how to save time, reduce hassle, and maximize comfort while traveling with kids. We answered the questions no one else was addressing. Are Four Seasons hotels actually kid-friendly? Can you book business class flights for children? (The answer to both is yes.)
By 2018, we hit our first six-figure year, and I went all in. When the pandemic hit in 2020, we made an ambitious choice—closing our martial arts school and homeschooling our girls to pursue full-time travel. We launched an ambitious project: a year-long series called 21 Resorts in 2021. The success exceeded our wildest dreams. We went from a few thousand YouTube subscribers to over 100,000, earning that coveted silver play button. Brand deals poured in. Tourism boards and luxury hotels competed for our attention. Major media outlets profiled us. We even appeared on Good Morning America.
We were living the dream, right?
Not exactly.
About halfway through our next year-long series (22 Cities in 2022), something felt off. The travel was incredible, but it was also exhausting in ways I hadn't anticipated. Our lives became an emotional roller coaster—feeling deeply connected and alive during trips, then disconnected and waiting during the time between adventures.
Those "between" periods weren't just about physical recovery. For me, they were consumed by relentless content creation—40 hours of video editing each week, all done by me alone. I was the one negotiating every brand deal, organizing each future stay, and maintaining our constant stream of social media content. While everyone else could decompress, I was chained to my laptop, racing to get everything done before our next trip.
Our family dynamic shifted dramatically. On trips, we were present and engaged. At home, we retreated to separate corners—the girls and Serge able to rest and recharge, while I disappeared into my office, shouldering the invisible weight of keeping our content machine running.
But the biggest challenge wasn't the travel or even the content creation. It was something I never saw coming: fame.
As a Gen Xer who was already an adult when social media emerged, I viewed these platforms differently than younger generations might. To me, Instagram and YouTube were simply places to share ideas and connect with like-minded people. I never saw them as fame-making machines.
So when we started getting recognized on trips, it was jarring. Yes, the interactions were always positive. Hearing how our content had inspired someone's family vacation or helped them through a tough time was incredibly meaningful. But there's something unsettling about losing your anonymity, especially as an introvert who values the freedom of moving through the world unnoticed.
More concerning was watching my daughters become recognized by strangers. On group press trips with larger creators, I witnessed something that chilled me to my core—a glimpse into what could be our future if we stayed on this path. I saw children of mega-influencers, unable to take a single step through Disney World without being swarmed by fans who knew their names, their ages, their favorite colors, their whole lives. These kids couldn't just be kids. They were trapped in a gilded cage of fame their parents had built around them, brick by brick, video by video.
Looking at those children, my stomach would knot as I thought: "This could be Sean and Ella in a few years." If our channel kept growing at this pace, my daughters could end up living in that same prison of fame—one I would have constructed myself, all while telling myself I was building something for our family. They would lose the simple freedom of walking down a street without being watched, filmed, approached by strangers who felt they knew everything about them.
That's when I knew something had to change. I couldn't let my success come at the cost of my children's right to an ordinary childhood.
In early 2023, I began deliberately scaling back the girls' presence in our content. By fall, they had returned to public school, marking the end of our chapter of homeschooling and almost full-time travel.
Today, the girls are thriving in ways that weren't possible during our traveling years. They have rich social lives, deep friendships, and the freedom to explore their city without the weight of recognition. They're living their own stories, not just being supporting characters in our family's content.
Was it an easy decision? Absolutely not. We walked away from a lucrative business with massive growth potential. We could have kept the series going—23 Islands in 2023, 24 Countries in 2024. The opportunities were endless.
But at what cost?
This isn't the first time I've walked away from something others might consider "prestigious." Throughout my career, I've had several moments where I chose to step back from success that looked impressive on paper but no longer aligned with my values.
What I've learned is this: Prestige can become a prison. We build something that makes us feel important, that others admire or envy. Even when we know it's no longer serving us, we cling to it because we're afraid of what others might think if we let go.
But here's the truth: You'll reach a breaking point whether you choose to make the change or wait for the change to choose you. Social media success shouldn't come at the cost of your family's privacy or your own creative freedom. The goal isn't to chase numbers forever—it's to build something that feels aligned with your values.
Sometimes the boldest move you can make is choosing to step back. When you release what looks impressive to create space for what feels right, that's when real success begins.
Looking at my daughters now, watching them build their own rich, multi-layered lives that have nothing to do with content or travel or being "on" for an audience, I know in my heart that stepping back was exactly the right move. Sometimes the biggest wins don't look like wins at all—until you zoom out and see the whole picture.
Whether you're building a platform or building a life, remember this: The path forward sometimes requires taking a step back. And that's not just okay—it might be the most powerful move you can make.
Question for you:
Have you ever built something—whether a career, a business, or a public identity—that started to feel like a trap instead of an achievement? How did you know it was time to step back, and what happened when you did? Share your experience in the comments 👇
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Bring Carmen to your next event
Carmen Van Kerckhove is an author and keynote speaker whose work explores how technology, social class, and cultural shifts are reshaping work as we know it. Her upcoming book, The Slingshot Effect (Crown Currency), shows why pulling back isn’t a setback—it’s how every breakthrough begins.
Based in New York City, Carmen speaks at keynotes, conferences, leadership summits, and company retreats.
→ For speaking inquiries, contact info@topflightfamilymedia.com. Explore her signature talks here.
"Even when we know it's no longer serving us, we cling to it because we're afraid of what others might think if we let go...You'll reach a breaking point whether you choose to make the change or wait for the change to choose you." Oof, that hits.
When I was a child until my early 20s we traveled often, mainly to international destinations. Most often we traveled first class, with the captain and his co-pilots the only ones in front of us, or me when I travelled solo.
Traveling abroad had its appeal while I was a boy and young man, but in time it lost its appeal and seemed like a significant amount of effort planning and preparing with a rather poor ROI.
In my 20s, older and wiser, I concluded that, unless your travel is to reunite with family or for humanitarian purposes, the world, and surely the Earth’s biosphere, would be better by you remaining wherever you might have been originally deposited in the world.
Happiness is not a place to which one may travel, it is a persistent condition we create through our good works in life and the love we share with others.