I always associate places with monumental, life-changing events. It’s like the photo library of my brain is organized not by album title, but by location. Boston, Hakodate, NYC, Boston again. Surely there’s some rule that says you must be on a trip—preferably alone—to have an epiphany.
Why is it that other places, no matter how far the physical location is, evoke a feeling of truthfulness just by being somewhere not-here? The same questions I ask myself day after day, that keep me up at night, are suddenly made sense of just by being under a different skyline.
Maybe it’s the feeling of accomplishment that comes with traveling solo: I planned, I boarded the plane, I found my luggage in an airport where all the signs were in Japanese. Maybe it’s just having the quiet time alone with yourself. Eating a morning croissant and coffee at a local cafe with just yourself as company. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not lonely being alone. It just is. And it just seems to clear my head enough to pave the way for big changes, big shifts.