And so it ends? But it also doesn’t. Something ends. But I’m not sure what.
Suddenly I’m home where everything started, with the people I always come home to. I’m confused but happy. All that’s left of the past four months is the ache in my right hip from carrying my backpack lopsided.
You know, that same old story. Confused why nothing has changed yet terrified that anything has. That disorientating stage where you feel like a tetherless balloon. And then the eventual way we fall back into a routine. Folding us back up in its quiet familiarity. Time to hibernate for the winter.
I’ve now been home for a week and have been thinking about what I want to say to somehow sum up these past four months, but words have been hesitant to come. I try to write a few sentences, feel weird about it, then stop. I think I’ve made it too big in my head. There’s no way a few measly paragraphs are going to suffice for the past four months. I simply feel… so much about it all. The feelings are all jammed up in my head, unable to become anything coherent. It’s like when you love someone so much that words seem to evade you. It becomes impossible to explain because it’s such a complex and deep and overwhelming feeling.
So, I’m taking the pressure off. This won’t encapsulate everything perfectly, it’s just a send off on this particular adventure, some random simple closing remarks. All I want to do is share a bit of what I’m feeling.
I’ve lived about eight lifetimes in the past four months. There’s been a lot of movement. I first came to Greece with a one way ticket not knowing what I would do or where I would be the next week. All I knew was that I had a wedding to go to, and the rest… well we would see.
It became a pattern where I would stay about 2 weeks somewhere, then naturally move on. I stayed with Olga in Greece, I did a workaway in Puglia, then another workaway in Sardinia, an artist residency in France, a week in Paris, stayed with my cousin in London, volunteered at a meditation centre in Suffolk, then a final solo week in Ireland. And that’s just the big picture of it all, just imagine the millions of moments stored up within my noggin!
If I’ve been anything on this trip, it’s been a Guest. I’ve had the privilege and honour to be invited to people’s homes; becoming a momentary visitor to their intimate worlds and daily routines. I feel like I’ve been a little bird flying from tree to tree. And each tree is the home I have been invited to make my little nest in. A house, an apartment, a city, a town, a country. Arms have been held wide open. The branches have beckoned me in.
Holy shit did I feel lost at times. Literally and metaphorically. What was I even doing? Who did I think I was? Why do I get to do this? Should I be doing this? ahhhhhh.
Things I lost or left behind at one point or another: My toiletry bag, my shampoo bar, my towel, my wallet, my hairbrush, my bridesmaid dress, my skirt, my only jacket, 200 euros, my book, my sunglasses. I swear I’m not usually like this but something was in the air I don’t know?!
I was never looking for anything. I wasn’t looking for a feeling or a person or a place. My resolution before I left was that I would just be there. Fully there. That I would be open and ready to laugh. And man did I laugh! (Also cried). Mainly happy tears, but also sad tears. I was so fully there that it broke my heart a little bit each time I had to leave a place or a person. It turns out that continuous movement doesn’t lessen connection. In fact, I felt like I could begin to understand something. A moment is all you need to see something or someone. And when times and interactions are so clearly momentary, each moment in a place or with a person becomes so precious. People are beautiful. They care. Everyone feels pain. A smile can change everything. A hand to lift someone up. A conversation to understand.
When it comes down to it. This wasn’t about travelling. This wasn’t about backpacking. This wasn’t about the amount of countries I visited or sites I saw. This was about doing something I really wanted to do. Something I couldn’t really explain. This was about following something deep inside.
If I’m only left with a feeling. That feeling would be possibility. Is possibility a feeling? It’s sort of a mix between fear and hope. An in-between word. But I don’t feel possibility as a future tense thing. I feel possibility like I feel change. Inevitable. Always there. Ready for us to spot and hold onto.
If I close my eyes, I can immediately be brought back to certain moments. Tasting pistachio gelato in Sardinia or deep fried honey feta in Corfu. Running along mountain sides or running to catch a bus. Watching the setting sun cast Rome in a warm golden hue. Seeing the moon rise over a quiet mediterranean town. The sparkle of the eiffel tower at 8 pm or the glimmer of the greek sea in daytime. The small gestures of kindness from strangers and the warm opening of doors from friends. The familiar cadence of someone I haven’t seen for years or the thoughts of someone I just met. Sitting in sparkling sand or the pink carpet in my cousin’s living room. The shock of the creaminess of a Guinness in Dublin or the saltiness of marmite in Suffolk. The bookstores of London or the rolling hills of Kent. The sounds of the bouzouki in Greece or the fiddle in Ireland. Meditating in a hall with 100 strangers or in the bed of my hostel. Daily routines fluctuating. Learning to embrace the fluctuations. Late mornings, greek coffee, and figs with Olga. Romcom nights, chocolate and tea with Brigitte. Cappuccino and croissant with Emma. Creperia with Marybeth and Kim. Peach yogurt popsicles with Brynn and Fynn. Gliding from place to place. A boat, a bus, a train. Perched beside a window, watching the surroundings pass by. Realizing that it’s me that’s passing by. My soles skipping over cobblestones, my palms pressed into grassy cliffs. The feeling of walking in tune with something invisible to everyone but me. A path filled with a song that is no ones but mine. Noticing the synchronicities of pain and love and beauty that are everywhere. Light like the sweet breeze that lifts the willow branches. The same playlist put on repeat. Laughter of all varieties stitching it all together. Questions by the dozen. Silence to soak it all in. The land remaining by my side, under my purple sneakers, in the textures of the tree bark, the taste of the salty sea, the patterns of the clouds. My only constant companion. Steady steps. Eyes open.
Greece – Italy – France – England – Ireland
12/08/2025 – 12/12/2025