Sometimes, discovering who you are requires stepping out of the life you know and into one you don’t. For me, that moment came when I found myself lost—literally and figuratively—somewhere between a Parisian café and the Seine River. My phone had died, I couldn’t read the street signs, and my high school French was failing me (“Excusez-moi, où est, uh… Taco Bell?”). But standing there, swept up in the smells of fresh baguettes and the steady hum of conversations I couldn’t understand, I realized I wasn’t panicking—I was grinning. That’s when I understood: travel wasn't just an escape. It was a mirror that reflected parts of myself I never knew existed.

Here’s what exploring the world taught me about me—and maybe it can teach you something about yourself, too.

1. You’re Not as Stuck as You Think

Growing up in a tiny Appalachian town where everyone knew your business (and probably your grandparents’ business, too), life could feel a bit… preordained. Folks are born, grow up, marry the girl next door, and live in the same house their Papaw built. It’s a kind of rhythm that’s comforting until it stifles you, like wearing a sweater three sizes too small.

My first trip outside the U.S. wasn’t to a romantic European capital or some Instagram-approved tropical island—it was to Canada. Close enough that my mom didn’t feel the need to pack a care package (‘cause Lord knows what they eat up there in the wilderness of Windsor), but far enough to feel different. Something about crossing that border unknotted an idea inside me: I wasn’t tethered to where I was born. I loved West Virginia's echoing mountains, yes, but the sight of a world beyond them reminded me that life is full of possibilities. You’re allowed to change. You’re allowed to chase new scenery, even if it means the occasional wrong turn.

2. It’s OK to Be Bad at Things

When I moved to Maine, I thought I was equipped to handle coastline living. I grew up cutting wood and hauling coal; surely I could manage a fishing rod or a rowboat. Turns out, getting tangled in a lobster trap at dawn is a very humbling experience. (The lobsters won that round, and yes, I nearly became their dinner.)

Likewise, traveling often means fumbling through moments that make you acutely aware of how little you know. Like the time I confidently ordered a “latte” in Italy, only to receive a glass of warm milk (pro tip: ask for a caffè latte next time). Or when I joined in a salsa dance class abroad where I stepped on more toes than I care to admit.

But here’s the thing: instead of feeling embarrassed, I laughed. The grace isn’t in getting things perfect; it’s in showing up, messing up, and trying again. Whether it’s ordering embarrassing milk or failing to fold yourself into another culture’s rhythm, being bad at things makes for great stories—and even better growth.

3. You Can Surprise Yourself

When we talk about our “type” in dating, it’s usually shorthand for patterns: the same kinds of personalities, same pet peeves, same heartbreaks. I used to apply that same thinking to life itself—assume my preferences were set in stone, like those coal veins running under my hometown.

Then came Los Angeles, the polar opposite of my rural upbringing. For six years, I lived in a city where mountains were accessorized with palm trees and the highways might as well be gladiatorial arenas. At first, everything about L.A. felt wrong. In my head, I was the guy who drank whiskey neat, listened to old-time banjos, and never traded hiking boots for sneakers.

But here’s the funny thing about L.A.: it taught me I could be both someone who loved quiet country nights and someone who wandered through chaotic farmer’s markets at 9 a.m., trying kombucha for the first time (it’s… fine, I guess?). Traveling changes you in ways you don’t expect. It shows you won’t always know what kind of person you are until you let yourself live a completely different life for a while.

4. People Are Both Fascinating and Familiar

One day in Japan, I sat on a train platform eating onigiri (spoiler: it’s rice, not a Pokémon) next to a group of elderly women who were chatting in rapid-fire Japanese. It struck me how different we were, but also how their laughter—the kind where you throw your head back without caring—felt like something I’d heard a hundred times before at the church potluck back home.

Traveling reminds you that humans are humans. The details vary—languages, customs, the way they brew their coffee—but the bigger stuff? The need for connection, the love of a good laugh, the ache to tell someone else, “Hey, I see you”? That’s the same wherever you go.

It’s also a good dating reminder, by the way. Beneath all our quirks and individuality, the things we crave in love and friendship aren’t all that different. We want to laugh with someone. We want to feel safe. Whether you’re building a life with someone in matching rocking chairs or stealing glances over espresso in a Paris café, the foundations tend to look the same.

5. Vulnerability Is Strength

Ah, vulnerability. The thing we’re all told we should embrace, the way politicians hug babies during campaigns—awkwardly and with one eye on the clock. Traveling doesn’t let you side-step vulnerability. Instead, it pitches you headfirst into situations where you feel exposed and out of your element.

Whether it’s losing your wallet in a Berlin subway (it’s always in the last place you check—thank you, kind German stranger!) or breaking down in tears in a Reykjavik park because the auroras broke open something raw inside you, travel strips away the masks. Learning to sit with that rawness, to not try and hide it behind a flirty laugh or a shrug, taught me that real connection comes from letting people see you, flaws and all.

Relationships work the same way. If you never let your guard down, you’re essentially sharing the cover of your book and none of the pages. And while the cover might be attractive, the story is always the thing worth falling for.

The Journey Continues…

Travel taught me that the world is bigger, messier, and more magical than I ever imagined—and that the same goes for me. We’re all works in progress, our edges shaped by the places we roam and the people we meet along the way. That doesn’t mean you need a passport to start discovering yourself (although it helps). It means saying “yes” to the new, the uncomfortable, the potentially milk-filled moments of life.

Because who knows? The person you become on the other side of the fear, failure, and funny adventures might just surprise you in the best way.