We were comparing lifestyles—he is a homebody, and I am a nomad.
“Why do you travel so much?” he asked.
I paused.
I hadn’t reflected on that in a while. Travel has become my norm—months lived out of one bag, bouncing between cities, always packing, unpacking, leaving just as the familiar starts to take root.
But why do I do it?
Because I know of no better way to do what I love most: fall in love.
The Love Affair with the Unknown
The moment I step off the plane, everything shifts.
The air is different—thicker, saltier, spiced with something I can’t quite name. The light moves differently, stretching shadows, painting color in shades I don’t recognize. The sounds—markets humming, waves breaking, languages I don’t speak but somehow feel—pull me forward, tugging at my curiosity like an old friend.
And suddenly, I am awake.
Every corner is a mystery, every sound a promise, every encounter a chance to connect. My senses sharpen, my heart leans in.
But it’s not just the world I’m falling in love with.
It’s myself.
Courting Myself in Foreign Cities
When I travel, I meet a version of me I rarely see at home.
Without my backstory, without the weight of roles and expectations, I encounter myself with fresh eyes. Who am I here, in this place, surrounded by these strangers?
I flirt with my own curiosity. I linger in bookstores, run my fingers along the spines of novels in languages I don’t read. I follow the scent of baking bread down an alleyway just to see where it leads. I let myself get lost.
I notice what stirs me. The pull of a sun-drenched café terrace. The ache in my legs after ten kilometers of walking just because the city kept unfolding. The way my breath catches in my throat as I stand before a centuries-old cathedral, feeling something bigger than myself.
At home, I don’t notice these things. At home, I rush through routines, tick off to-dos, arrive at the end of the day with a glass of wine in hand and no memory of where the hours went.
But when I travel, I am present. Alive.
And I wonder—why do I allow myself this depth of experience only when I am away?
The Rebellion of Travel
Travel is my rebellion.
It is my refusal to accept the narrow, prescribed version of life the world tries to hand me. The endless list of shoulds—who I ought to be, how I ought to live, what I ought to want.
But when I step into a new culture, I see the infinite ways we live the human story.
In one place, love is a quiet partnership, growing over decades like old stone. In another, it is fiery, shouted from rooftops, declared boldly in the streets. In one place, ambition looks like a ladder to climb. In another, it is the slow art of an unhurried afternoon.
And every time I witness these stories, I find the courage to rewrite my own.
I rebel against scarcity. I rebel against fear. I lean into abundance.
The second cup of coffee with a stranger who shares her life story. The extra day in a city whispering, stay a little longer. The laughter of strangers over wine and candlelight, in a language I barely understand but deeply feel.
Travel dares me to shed the rules that keep me small.
Meeting Myself in the Journey
When I travel, I allow myself new beginnings.
I experiment with different ways of being—moving slower, daring more, leaning into joy. I stop seeing myself as a fixed identity, and instead as someone in motion, evolving with every step into an unfamiliar place.
And when I return home? I’m no longer the ghost of my routine. I carry stories, perspectives, and loves that remind me of who I am at my core—and who I am still becoming.
Imagine Yourself Here
Close your eyes for a moment.
You wake up in a sunlit room, the sound of distant waves breaking against the shore. The air is fresh, carrying the faint scent of lavender and salt. You step onto a terrace where a steaming cup of coffee waits.
The day stretches before you—no demands, no obligations.
Later, you find yourself in a quiet cobblestone square, settled into a café chair, journal in hand, the breeze lifting the edges of the pages. You feel it—that deep, certain connection. To the place. To yourself.
Or maybe it’s the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff after a long hike, your muscles burning but your heart bursting with pride.
Or sitting at a long table, surrounded by strangers who, after one shared meal, now feel like family.
The Invitation
When we step away from the familiar, we meet the truest parts of ourselves. The bold parts. The curious parts. The parts that are eager to connect, to explore, to live.
If you feel the pull, don’t wait for the perfect timing. Don’t wait until the schedule clears, or the to-do list is finished, or you feel “ready.”
Just say yes.
Yes to stepping away from the noise. Yes to rediscovering the woman you are when you’re fully awake. Yes to falling in love—with the world, with others, and most of all, with yourself.
Come with me.
Let’s create the space to explore, to discover, and to come alive again.
The world is waiting for you. And so am I.