There’s a magic to living out of a suitcase that I’ve been chasing since childhood.

Growing up, my family would pack up and disappear for a month at a time—just the four of us, the open road, and whatever we’d find along the way. Back then, travel meant counting down the days, pressing my face against the car window, and collecting moments like souvenirs.

Now? Travel has become something deeper. It’s less about checking off destinations and more about standing still long enough to really see them. I find myself wandering through markets, tracing my fingers along ancient walls, sitting in local cafes just listening. I’m learning that every place has a heartbeat if you’re quiet enough to hear it.

And here’s what surprises me most: sometimes I visit a place for the second or third time, and it feels like the first. Like I’m seeing it with new eyes. Like I’m finally present enough to notice what I missed before.

There’s this strange sense of home I feel when I’m away—as if every corner of the world I explore is somehow mine, too. A weekend escape, a spontaneous road trip, just leaving town—it all carries the same electricity. That feeling of possibility. Of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I’m grateful for every place that’s welcomed me, and I’m even more excited about the ones still waiting. Because really, this is just the beginning.

Where does travel take you? 🌍✨