This summer, I finally had the chance to live out a long held dream of mine: to travel. If you’ve read the blog, you know all about me smuggling Bibles, living with orphans, and getting mugged. I had so many experiences that I still find myself sorting them out months later.
I know it’s cliche, but nothing changes your outlook on the world like travel. The joy I experienced living with malnourished orphans in India makes me think twice when I complain about being hungry. Being attacked by children in a place where the economic struggles are so intertwined with American politics that they are impossible to separate gives me pause when I consider the impact of our country’s actions abroad. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think fondly of ancient stone roads in France or lush mountains in East Africa.
Travel didn’t fix anything for me. I spent much of the trip worrying about all the same things I usually worry about. I came home and had all the same struggles I always have. But it did make the world seem a little bigger, and my reality seem a little smaller. I have an appreciation for things I didn’t know existed and things I have. I have this crazy sense of attachment to anyone the places I’ve traveled (“you’re from India? I’ve been there!”) and camaraderie with those who have traveled as well. Most importantly, it’s given me the courage to strike out, try new things, talk to different kinds of people, and take risks that would have been out of the question.
When people say to me “I wish I could travel!” my response is always the same: you can. Anybody can. You just have to do it. And when you do it, you’ll never be the same.
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