When I took my first solo trip, one of the few things I was so sure about was simply sharing my experiences.
I imagined the words would flow in harmony with the sepia-toned brownstones that surrounded me in Paris. That my thoughts would be as unassuming yet as charming as the grey skies in London. And that by the time I made it to Amsterdam, I’d be unrecognizable.
I think why it’s been so hard for me to put into words my experiences abroad is because I’m still processing them. My trip was a myriad of empowerment and uncertainty and I am still searching for what will bridge the two together. Beautiful languages swept through cobblestone streets like a song without words on repeat. I noticed body language and the way we present ourselves and how those simple actions can enunciate far more greatly than any spoken word.
It was a mixture of loneliness, humility, and peace. There were friendships, lovers, and strangers that enveloped me. Me, someone in this crowd celebrating her 25th birthday all by myself. There was something humbling about a sea of unfamiliar faces. The way we know nothing about each other except this moment that we accidentally share.
And while I’m still figuring out how to best describe the beauty of the in-between moments, I'm thinking it'll be captured like the stillness of side streets and the art on the brick walls that were created simply because.
If nothing else, my trip reiterated a love of the unknown and the difference between a house and home.