For each of us, there is something that makes us feel whole, or at least a little more complete, reminding us of our identities. Speaking for myself, this one thing is travel. My heart thirsts for the promise of expansion in perspective. I feel most like myself when I have a backpack across my shoulders, a language guide in my hand, and a camera around my neck. I experience an unforgettable rush when I pack my bags, get on a plane, and launch myself with abandon to a place and time that I’ll never see the same way again.

If you travel to the state next door, or if you go the whole nine yards and jump on a plane to Singapore, there is a priceless moment of adrenaline and potential as you take a step and say “yes.” I’m a firm advocate of stepping outside of one’s comfort zone through travel. I’ve seen people who’ve never traveled or who’ve never had an itch for a journey step foot on new ground and say, “How have I never done this before? I’ve never felt so alive in my life.” We become more of ourselves through active discovery; conversation and exploration show us more of who others are and more of the universal human experience.

One of the best aspects of travel is how it mends misconceptions. Hardly anyone likes to admit their own prejudices or misunderstandings, myself included. Despite how difficult admitting your own mistakes can be, it’s even more rewarding to look at a place, time, or person through new lenses.

The most powerful experience I’ve had with my own misconceptions was when I went to Israel in 2014. As did most children in the early 2000s, I grew up with news stories of bombings in Gaza and tragedies caused by terrorists across the Middle East. Israel stood out as a desert kingdom in my mind, a piece of land that everyone wanted and would commit murder to gain. I was apprehensive and unsure of what or who I would encounter in Israel, but my wanderlust drew me on.

Israel may seem small on a map, but in person there is no way to comprehend its vastness. In the middle of January, it was as warm as an autumn afternoon in New York, and yellow roses bloomed in the center of Jerusalem. The desert is filled with enchantment, with sudden bouts of rain and labyrinths of canyons. In the north, boundless hills and olive groves stretch past the horizon. Women in hijabs, men with kippahs, and children in school uniforms walk comfortably past ancient Biblical ruins and remains of the Roman empire.

This is not to say this area has not known its share of tragedy, but everyone seems so hopeful. Amidst the protests around the Dome of the Rock and the unease along the border of Palestine, the people who I met in Israel were genuinely happy about their present, expectant about their futures, and confident in their histories.

How would I have known how wrong I was about Israel if I had never taken the steps to get there? The transformation that happens to your heart when you travel is priceless, surprising, and often dramatic. It’s a matter of collecting the puzzle pieces, connecting the dots, and becoming who you are truly meant to be.