I grew up in a place where people didn’t really travel. Of course they’d go to the beach or go to Florida, but I’d hardly say going to the same places, year after year (especially when it’s tourist traps), traveling. I remember my Senior Year of high school when we were planning our senior trip. I wanted to go to Washington DC and NYC. I wanted to see something different and new, and I was over ruled in favor of Florida.
I got on a plane for the first time when I was 24. I flew across the country and went to California for the first time. I realized that there was a world outside of the south and the midwest.
Travel for me has become a refresher. It’s become a way to center myself. It’s become a way to broaden my mind, to change my perception. It’s become an escape and a way to heal. It’s become one of the only ways I’ve been able to find myself.
Travel, mostly to Europe, has been a blessing and somewhat of a curse. I’m sitting here writing this sad and trying to figure out my life while also being stuck where I am for a bit because of Fry needing so much and trying to pay off debt. All I want to do is walk through the Paris or Prague visiting museums, drinking their ridiculously small coffees, and wandering through the streets.
So this is me, missing being on the other side of the world, while I’m just sitting in my bedroom with my pups.