I always meet someone new.
I meet hostel-hoppers, packs stacked high and Chacos strapped firmly to their feet. I meet warm, wonderful locals and strange, near-aliens from my own home state. I meet life-long friends (or the Facebook equivalent, at least!) and I meet train buddies, the kind of bond that lasts for one overnight to Edinburgh – but I’m not talking about any of these people.
I’m talking about me. Travel changes you, they say, and you know what? I believe it. I buy it whole-heartedly, because I’ve seen the man who left and I’ve seen the man who came back somehow new. I can’t always put my finger on it, but there’s something different about this man, this tanned face I see blinking back in the mirror.
And I love it.
Mexico City, Mexico. I don’t remember the conversation, but I do remembers the Brits: a group of students who spent an entire breakfast reminding me of what I didn’t know about British culture. I can’t say I’m used to being on the defensive when I’m chewing my eggs, but I survived. And I realized something, there, that still hurts a little to this day: I don’t know much. I don’t know much about any culture about my own, and while the Brits certainly weren’t the nicest they could have been about it, they made a point I sorely needed to learn.
Český Krumlov, Czech Republic. Lingering awkwardly in a hostel full of Australians who clearly knew each other (and definitely didn’t know me!), I realized that I was due for a long, quiet night unless I did something drastic – and so I talked to someone. I struck up a conversation with one awesome Aussie, and it was a graceless, ugly start, but I made a friend for the entire evening and realized I had nothing to fear about talking to strange new people. I also learned how to pour a beer from a keg. Success!
Liverpool, England. My travel buddies backed out, one by one, and I realized I had to make a choice: rush to the train station by myself and go alone to Liverpool, or hang around Oxford instead and hope that my friends would change their mind before it was time to fly back to the States. I took the train. I walked the city by myself, explored every sight by myself, and navigated the train schedule back by myself (except for the part when the nice worker mapped out my route for me). My travel buddies had spent the day lounging around Oxford. I’d spent the day in a city affectionately known as the birthplace of the Beatles, and I felt like some bold, bright person for doing it.
I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging – like I’m flexing my travel muscles and listing all the cool places I’ve been. I mention them instead for the one remarkable quality they share in common: they’re not the highlights of my travels. These aren’t the cream of the crop, nor even the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me outside my home country. Each little anecdote is just a small slice of time, some five or ten (otherwise mundane) minutes in the days and weeks I spent exploring these strange new places.
These memories aren’t the stories I tell my friends. But they are important. They’re proof, each one of them, of how I changed – how I found myself somewhere new and strange, how I honestly didn’t know how to act, and how I came away a slightly different person. A better person, I think, but one with plenty of room still to grow.
Maybe that’s the point of traveling. People tend to think big about it, remembering only the huge, dynamic events that can characterize a wild trip, but there’s another side to the story that tends to get skipped over when we think back on the adventure. Don’t get me wrong – just by putting yourself in an unfamiliar, oft uncomfortable environment, you’re making bold steps toward change, but that’s not when real magic happens.
It’s in those little minutes, I think. Those moments when you’re out of your element and forced to adapt, forced to find that strength inside of us all that tends to go undiscovered.
Travel changes you. It changed me. I’m wiser, braver, and far more humble every time I jet back to the States, and I absolutely cannot wait for how the next trip will shape me. That’s why I travel, after all, and why seeing the world has become such an incredibly important part of my life.
What about you? Why do you travel? And if you don’t, why not? Let’s talk about it!
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I'm a writer, minimalist, and health dork with three goals in mind: to teach you how to lose weight, move more, and be happier by living a simple, natural life. It works. Like what you read here? Get 3NL delivered straight to your inbox!
Matt,
Nice to hear how travel changed you. I understand completely as I am doing the same thing. As a matter of fact, I am in Liverpool right now in my journeys and soon to go out and visit the “birthplace of the Beatles”. Perhaps even sitting in a place where you once sat. It is after all a small world, really.
No kidding! Liverpool’s a great city, isn’t it? I just remember how free it felt as I was walking around it. Open air, a big blue sky, and easy breathing made it a very fun city to explore.
Thanks for reading and commenting! I’m going to have to check your site and read about your travels.
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Reading that wonderful article just rekindled my travel bug! I was in Holland and Germany last year on an exchange, the experience is just so memorable. Once in a lifetime as everyone likes to to say. Time to plan a new trip I think!
You should come to Australia some time! It’s a great country.
I plan to! Australia is definitely on my list, if only to reconnect with some of the amazing Aussies I’ve met on my travels. Wonderful place, wonderful people!
Glad you liked the article, Tom!
Have similar reasons to travel as much as possible! Even wrote a post with the same name http://www.crazysexyfuntraveler.com/why-i-travel/
Matt,
I love this post because I couldn’t have said it better myself! While seeing different museums & monuments is nice, meeting new people and learning about different cultures are what fuels my obsession with travel.
Glad to hear it, Leigh Ann.
And glad to have met you that weekend! That was a great time all around. 
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