I have known for years that travel was a journey I was meant to take. Sometimes we write our dreams down with little vision — full of passion, yet with little understanding of the why or the how behind them. That was me. I did not fully understand why traveling mattered so deeply to me; I only knew I felt an undeniable pull toward it. I may have mentioned this in an earlier post, but grief transformed travel from a dream into something far more necessary. In many ways, it became one of the reasons I am still here today.
The rush of anticipation that moves through me before arriving somewhere new reinvigorates me. Even getting lost in an unfamiliar city, along with the frustration it brings, somehow grounds me. And the quiet tears that loneliness occasionally draws out feel strangely comforting. They remind me that grief is no longer trapped inside of me — it is slowly being released. Even on the days when the weight of it all settles heavily over my body, I am able to sit with it. Not hide from it. Not shrink away from it. Not mask it to avoid judgment or the endless question of why I am “still grieving.”
There will always be people who cannot comprehend the enduring presence of grief by those untouched by it, or unwilling to understand its permanence. But through travel, I have learned to allow myself to feel everything freely and entirely on my own terms. And that freedom has been one of the most healing experiences of my life.
It is in those moments that I realize how grateful I am to have the opportunity to carry these emotions across the world, to confront the darkness honestly while still searching for light through travel. I know this season of my life will eventually change, as all things do. But until then, the journey continues.
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