I am a lover of travel.
I love experiencing new places.
I love walking or driving around navigating unfamiliar territory.
I am forever grateful for the opportunity and privilege to travel for the fun of it.
The ability to see life from a new perspective and escape some of life’s messy realities.
The more I travel, the more I realise that one of my favourite things about travel is its finite nature.
There is a start date and an end date.
The start date represents the excitement, the hope and expectation that awaits. The start date of any travel is met with joyful anticipation.
The end date represents order and process. Everything must come to an end. It’s a reminder to not take any moment during the travel for granted, to make the most of it while you are experiencing it.
I used to loathe the end date. It always seemed to creep up on me. I used to be irritated by the prospect of returning home to life as I know it.
But somewhere along the way home took on another meaning.
Home means contentment.
A safe space to recharge.
It means freedom to just BE.
It never escapes me how lucky I am that that’s what it represents to me. I am forever grateful.
I’ll never tire of travel.
But I’ll always be longing for the certainty of HOME.
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