One day I found a map, not just any map, but a map of the whole world. I poured myself over it. Memorizing every road, boarder and river. Dreaming up hundreds of ways to get where I wanted to be most in life. Where was that? Everywhere.

So I went.

Along the way, I devoured the world as if everything I witnessed was the last of the sweetest most delicate fruit there would ever be.

I gained knowledge that I would not have acquired had I stayed here. I became the master of travel and anything I happened to be doing at the time, or so I let myself believe most days. Here are just a few of the many lessons I learned about myself, life and traveling solo:

I learned that I am perfectly capable of transferring from train to bus to train again for over 12 hours with no trouble and still end up at my destination on time. I also learned that I can travel in the wrong direction for over an hour before I realize I am definitely not where I should be. Travel is learning how capable you truly are.

I finally grasped the idea of what it means to be open minded. Witnessing countless cultures, religions, and languages taught me that there is more than one way to live life. With that lesson, I also realized how privileged I am to be an American.

Travel is hard.

However, what is travel without passion? I defined that word for myself after being so exhausted I couldn’t move another step but getting up before sunrise to do it all over again. Then, I re-defined it, after missing everyone I love so much it physically hurt but yet finding enough room to fall in love with the most wonderful people I could imagine. It’s the strangest feeling… being passionate about where you are but wanting to be home at the same time.

After enduring the pain of being homesick I was determined to see wondrous sights. I was even more determined to capture them in my mind for eternity, because travel is fleeting and not taking every ounce of it in is a sin. I was captivated.

If I could sum up my experiences they would be this: Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. Travel is not belonging to any person or city and finding freedom in that. Travel is about finding who you have been all along.

The time came for my journey home. I didn’t carry trinkets from foreign worlds or any worthy material possessions. I only carried my pack. My heart, however, carried more than I could ever fit into that pack. Life as I knew it was transforming by the hour. With every airport, every currency exchange, with every language I heard it became real. I was coming home.

Probably the hardest lesson I have learned, and am still learning, is that coming back is rocky. So is moving to a foreign country and not knowing anything about anything. I suppose that’s a whole separate lesson in itself, isn’t it? Life is learning to adjust