Lately, I’ve noticed how travel changes you

The more I travel, the more I’m changing — not in the obvious ways people expect, like “finding myself” or finally learning how to pack lighter (although that too). It’s more subtle than that. It’s in how I slow down for my morning coffee without checking the time. How I no longer rush to tidy before heading out. How I embrace last minute changes, or walk into a place where I don’t speak the language and feel… oddly calm.

I used to crave predictability— the comfort of plans, routines, and knowing what came next. Now, I’m learning to let go, “It’s ok.” Travel has taught me to exist in the in-between — to navigate unfamiliar streets with curiosity and trust that I’ll find my way, even when I don’t have Google Maps. LOL, not always a good idea.

For those of you watching my journey from afar, I can hear you: “She’s living the life!” And yes, I am — this experience is awesome, eye-opening, and full of moments I’ll never forget. But it also comes at a cost both literally and figuratively. Behind the photos and dreamy destinations is the reality of being far from home, missing birthdays and milestones, feeling out of step with friends back home, and constantly navigating the unfamiliar. Travel gives so much, but it asks a lot of you in return.

And then there are moments when I pause and think, Where even am I? There’s a strange feeling that comes with not truly belonging anywhere. It’s not like I’ll run into someone I know at the corner café. There’s no casual “Oh hey! Fancy seeing you here.” Just me, in another unfamiliar town, ordering another café allongé from someone I’ll likely never see again.

But here’s what I didn’t expect: I’m okay with it. I’ve stopped needing everything to feel familiar. I’m learning to belong to myself a little more. Maybe that’s the real transformation — not about finding new places, but about rediscovering who I am when everything else falls away.

And then there’s Paris — the closest thing to home these days. Vancouver feels like a past life. Is it secretly waiting for my return?

Honestly, I’m just figuring it out as I go. Some days I miss home. Some days I can’t imagine going back. I don’t have a plan — just a plane ticket (yup, it’s booked!), a suitcase (okay, several), a decent sense of direction (most of the time), and a growing ability to roll with whatever comes next. And for now, that feels like enough.