We often talk about travel as a destination.
But for me, it’s always been a direction.
Not north, south, east, or west.
But inward.
I don’t travel to escape.
I travel to remember who I am without the noise.
Without routines. Without roles.
Without the familiar mirrors that tell me who I should be.
On the road, I’m not someone’s partner, or daughter, or employee, or artist.
I’m just me.
Moving. Watching. Feeling.
And that, in itself, is freedom.
I collect places like some people collect shoes.
Not to show them off.
But because every city, every café, every unexpected detour left a fingerprint on who I became.
I remember a train ride more than a museum.
A shared smile with a stranger more than a selfie by a landmark.
I fall in love with the ordinary moments in extraordinary places.
A hot tea on a cold bus.
A late-night walk when I couldn’t sleep.
The silence of being somewhere no one knows my name — and loving it.
I don’t travel with a plan.
I travel with a feeling.
Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s heartache. Sometimes it’s a need to breathe.
I book flights the way others buy earrings — impulsively, intuitively, joyfully.
And even when I come back home, a part of me always stays.
At a street corner. In a breeze. Between languages.
I’ve learned more about myself at airports than in therapy.
Not because travel fixes anything.
But because it strips things down.
You learn how patient you are in a taxi at midnight.
How brave you are when your phone dies in a new city.
How kind you are to yourself when the trip doesn’t go to plan.
Travel doesn’t change you.
It shows you who you already are — outside the context you’ve built.
And you know what? I don’t need luxury.
I don’t need curated hotels or perfect weather.
I need presence. Discovery. Something new to taste. A view to hold. A moment I wasn’t expecting that becomes the whole point of the journey.
Whether it’s a foggy mountain trail or a local market in a sleepy town,
I’m not looking for perfect. I’m looking for real.
So no, I don’t always send postcards.
But I bring back stories.
Some I write down.
Some I carry in my bones.
And every trip, big or small, is a quiet reminder:
🌍 The world is wide.
🧭 You are allowed to begin again.
🏕️ Your soul knows how to find home — even in places you’ve never been.
