This is Malmö C early yesterday morning.

I once had a neighbor who used to ask me why I travel so much. She eventually leaned into the interrogation: “How can you possibly appreciate life at home if you’re never there?”

I answered her question with another question: “How can you appreciate your home when it’s such a minuscule sliver of what life has to offer? Especially if you only rarely leave the comfort and predictability of your daily routine?”

I have traveled regularly since my mid-twenties. You can call it an addiction, a distraction, or a never-ending adventure. To me, knowing that I am about to change locations and temporarily adopt new routines is what keeps me sharp, alert, and alive.

The big sleep is coming regardless of what we do or what some people prefer to believe. I want to experience as much as possible, as often as I can, before my eyes close for good. I know that one day, something will inevitably hinder my chronic wanderlust. It could be physical, financial, or political. But until then, every opportunity to move, change environments, and meet new people feels like a gift – a necessary breath of fresh air to fill my lungs with.