Between two worlds (or more)

There is a part of the trip that does not appear in the photos.
It's not the scenery, it's not freedom, it's not the perfect sunset.
It's the moment you realize you don't really belong anywhere.

What a wonderful feeling it is to buy a ticket, even knowing that you won't truly feel the excitement until you're on the plane or at your destination. That feeling intensifies when you pack your bag and make a mental, or physical, list so you don't forget anything, taking into account the weather and the diverse experiences you'll encounter.

Not to mention the day you're at the airport, on the plane, setting foot for the first time in completely unknown territory: colors, smells, languages, accents, gestures, shapes... everything diverse, like someone crossing a portal in just 2, 6, 14 or sometimes 30 hours.

Since 2019, travel has ceased to be a vacation and has become a lifestyle for me. Australia, Italy, Thailand, comings and goings, visas, goodbyes. What began as an adventure ended up becoming an identity.

Choosing travel as a lifestyle means constant decision-making: from the smallest day-to-day decisions, such as what to eat, what to wear, or where to live, to the biggest ones, such as organizing finances, taking on temporary jobs, or understanding when it's time to leave again.

But one of the biggest decisions one makes when starting out, often without full awareness, is to leave the safe space where those childhood friends and family members are to turn to in moments of despair, frustration, or even complex health situations.

And that's just the beginning. Then come the little things that together represent a big challenge: not having a familiar healthcare system, not fully mastering the language, your degree not being recognized in the new country, not fully understanding how the culture, the economy, or basic daily interactions work.

Everyone has their own unique reason for leaving. Some want to conquer the world. Others are escaping a normality that no longer fits. Others simply had no other choice.

But once you're on the other side, something starts to repeat itself. At first, there's enthusiasm. People write to find out how you are, what's different, what you're experiencing. Then, over time, the contact dwindles. And at times, it can feel like a small emotional death.

It sounds drastic, but it's similar. People in your country remember you as someone who was an important part of their lives. They post old photos, say how much they miss you. But life goes on. Just as you're building something new, so are they.

The problem is that you don't let go of that past life so easily. For you, those people are still alive. It's as if you've frozen a piece of time, hoping that when you return, everything will be the same.

But it's not the same anymore.

Over time, one understands that this image was a necessary illusion to give oneself space, to resist loneliness when it bites, to believe that there is always a place to return to if everything goes wrong.

Going back will never be the same. The place you left no longer exists as you remember it. The people have changed. You've changed.

And perhaps that's why someone who has never left their country can hardly understand the kind of loneliness one experiences when choosing to leave. The assumption that the traveler is happier simply for traveling can be as unfair as the traveler's desire for everything to remain untouched upon their return.

The loneliness of the traveler is the loneliness of not having a fixed home. It's the feeling that your birthplace is no longer entirely yours, but that your new one doesn't quite feel like it either. It's starting over from scratch, often. It's facing prejudice, language barriers, and stares that remind you that you are "the other."

It is the loneliness of not belonging.
And how much human beings yearn to belong.

But there's something else that travel teaches. The very fact of not feeling like you belong anywhere pushes you to belong more to yourself.

Perhaps we will never learn to say goodbye without pain, nor to accept with complete ease the coming and going of people and places. But travel teaches us to find solace in writing, in painting, in dancing, in plants, in sports, in any refuge we build for ourselves.

Teach them to talk to strangers because sometimes that's where the greatest relief lies.
To judge less.
To be celebrated more.
To keep each other company when no one else can.

If there's one thing that travel and solitude offer, it's this:
the possibility of becoming one's own home.