“Traveling is for people with trust funds and Instagram aesthetics,” I once told a friend from college who posted flawless sunrise selfies from Bali, lavender bath bombs artfully bubbling in the background. Back then, the farthest I’d gone was Gary, Indiana, on a no-frills church bus trip. Travel felt – how do I put this delicately? – like something for other people. But life, as it tends to do, handed me a surprise. A study abroad semester in Paris cracked me open, and random day trips and cross-country train adventures since then turned me into someone I barely recognized. I went from a skeptic to someone who now swears travel is essential, not just for seeing things but for seeing yourself. Here’s what exploring new places has taught me about the city I love, the relationships I build, and this person I’m still becoming.
The South Side Will Always Be Home, But I’m More Than Home
When you grow up in one place—especially a place as storied and complex as the South Side of Chicago—it becomes a kind of shorthand for your identity. For better or worse, it shapes how the world sees you and how you see yourself. As much as I love the rhythm of jazz pouring out of Bronzeville windows and the unapologetic jabber of kids chasing the ice cream truck, there was a part of me that thought the South Side was all I’d ever be. Travel gave me a panoramic view. Suddenly, I was a Chicagoan marveling at the Seine with a croissant in one hand, arguing about Kendrick Lamar with a classmate from Brazil over shawarma in Istanbul, realizing the common language of city kids everywhere.
Leaving Chicago taught me that loving my roots didn’t mean limiting myself to them. In fact, travel does this wild thing where you simultaneously appreciate home more and crave the newness of somewhere else. Now, I walk through Washington Park with fresh eyes, noticing the poetry of a neighbor sweeping her porch or the steam rising from deep-dish pizzas at a family joint. But I’ve also learned I can be someone new—a South Sider who dares to salsa in Barcelona, climb a mountain in Colorado, or toast with strangers in Montreal. Travel pushes you to see not just your physical surroundings but who you are beyond them.
Getting Lost Doesn’t Have to be a Crisis (In Travel or in Love)
I used to think being lost was a tragedy in progress. But then, Paris happened. One rainy afternoon, armed with a flimsy paper map and questionable Wi-Fi, I set out “confidently” to find a bookstore Hemingway once wrote about. Two hours and five wrong metro stops later, I found myself not at a bookstore but in some random café with a barista who made the best cappuccino I’ll ever have. We didn’t share a language—a series of charades led to this caffeine miracle—but we both smiled in the same way that says, “Eh, life’s funny like that.”
Here’s the nugget: Getting lost forces you to trust the journey. Whether you’re trying to navigate cobblestone streets in Brussels or figure out why a situationship faded into a friendship, there’s something humbling and oddly beautiful about not having control. Yes, sometimes detours are messy. But sometimes, they lead to cappuccinos and clarity. In life and in love, being lost doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re still finding where you’re meant to be.
Flirting (and Fighting) Is a Universal Language
Picture this: You’re at a night market in Bangkok, eyeing some mango sticky rice, and someone strikes up a conversation about how spicy they like their curry. It’s not about looks or charm or who asked who out—it’s just two people, curious and present. Flirting, I discovered, isn’t limited to couples at a candlelit dinner or DM slide attempts. It’s everywhere. It’s connecting with people who don’t know your baggage or your résumé but want to know what makes you light up.
That said, I also learned that fighting is just as universal as flirting. Whether it’s passive-aggressive side eye over who took the wrong exit on a rental car road trip or a full-blown argument in Rome over interpreting menu translations, conflict happens. What travel taught me is that the key isn’t avoiding the mess—it’s dealing with it. When you’re thousands of miles from home, you don’t have the luxury of ghosting a friend or sulking for hours. You talk it out, admit your part, and move on because there’s pasta to eat or a sunset to catch.
Solitude Isn’t Just Okay, It’s Necessary
Traveling alone was not on my bucket list. (Spoiler: It should’ve been.) But on a whim, I took a solo train ride to Lyon during my Paris semester, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel the pull of anyone else’s expectations. I wandered into museums where no one rushed me. I ate brothy bowls of French onion soup at a pace that would make a snail impatient. And as cliché as it sounds, I found myself.
You don’t have to be on a cobblestone street in Europe to embrace solitude, though. Sometimes, it’s turning your phone off before bed and just being present. Sometimes, it’s canceling that one-too-many plan because you need a quiet moment with yourself. Being alone isn’t about getting rid of people; it’s about making room for yourself in the chaos of life. Because whether you’re traveling or staying put, solitude teaches you to be your own best company. And trust me—when you vibe with yourself, the rest of the world can’t help but notice.
Comfort Zones Are Overrated
If life were a Saturday at Harold’s Chicken Shack (sweet-mild sauce, extra fries), I’d probably never leave my comfort zone. It’s warm, it’s safe, and absolutely no risk of bumping into that one embarrassing ex from college. But the thing about travel is that it demands you leap out of that zone like your life depends on it—because in a way, it does.
From accidentally eating snail ravioli in Florence (I thought it was mushroom ravioli!) to trying salsa dancing in Medellín when my rhythm was distinctly offbeat, travel has taught me how to laugh at myself and roll with the punches. It’s shown me that growth doesn’t happen wrapped in blankets of the familiar but in the awkward heat of discomfort. So now, instead of dodging hard conversations or declining that invite to try paddleboarding (even though water intimidates me), I think: Why not? If I can survive snail ravioli, I can survive vulnerability.
The Takeaway: Get Curious About Your World – Wherever You Are
Not everyone has the time or budget to pack up and explore a faraway place. I get it. Life can be demanding, and airfare isn’t getting any cheaper. But here’s the thing: Travel isn’t just about booking flights. It’s about curiosity. It’s exploring the farmer’s market two neighborhoods over, hiking that trail you’ve always heard about, or even learning to fix your grandma’s legendary peach cobbler recipe (crazy journey, right?).
The truth is, we’re all unfinished, searching, peeling back the layers of who we are. Travel just speeds up the process, forcing us to confront new places, people, and parts of ourselves. It cracks you open like a good jazz solo: unexpected, emotional, and transformative.
So go get lost—literally or figuratively. Whether it’s the streets of Rome or the aisles of a new grocery store, let the world surprise you. Trust me, you’ll come out of it with cappuccinos, snail ravioli stories, and maybe, just maybe, a better sense of who you are.
