Hey, it’s me—Irene—trying to put words to this pull I feel to roam the world, to let my inner compass spin and lead me wherever it damn well pleases. I’ve been chasing it for years now, across borders and backroads, and every step feels like I’m peeling back layers—remembering something I didn’t even know I’d forgotten. It’s not just about seeing places; it’s about finding pieces of myself in them, stitching together something real and meaningful through the miles, the faces, and the work I do with my hands.

Every spot I land in has its own quiet voice. There’s this hum in the jagged peaks that steadies me, a rhythm in the waves that calls me back to something ancient, a pulse in the streets or the stillness of a nowhere town that feels like it’s been waiting for me. I don’t just visit—I listen. And what I hear sticks with me, like a map I didn’t know I was drawing, guiding me back to a truer north.

The people I meet—they’re the ones who really crack it open. I’ve sat with folks who’ve never heard my name but share their world with me anyway—stories over a fire, traditions woven into every gesture, bits of their lives that show me how big and small we all are. Through them, I’m remembering what our ancestors knew: how to live close to what matters, how to hear that inner whisper over all the noise. It’s not just their cultures I’m taking in—it’s a mirror, showing me who I could be if I keep listening.

And yeah, there’s a wildness to it that I crave. I’ve felt my heart thump climbing slopes that dared me to quit, stood in ruins that felt alive with secrets, dipped into waters that woke me up in ways I can’t explain. Those moments—they’re not just fun; they’re fuel. They push me to trust that voice inside, to weave it into the natural stuff I create—oils, balms, whatever comes from my hands and the earth. It’s like the world’s teaching me how to build something that lasts.

The food, too—it’s a lifeline. Every bite’s a taste of where I am, a thread back to the roots we’ve all got buried somewhere. I’ve eaten things that hit me like a memory I never had—spices that burn slow, simple dishes that feel like truth. It’s more than flavor; it’s a conversation with the land, the people, the past. It’s fuel for my compass, pointing me toward what’s real.

So that’s why I keep wandering—why I’ll never stop. It’s my way of remembering what we’ve lost touch with, of letting that inner voice lead me through the chaos to something I can hold onto. Travel, the folks I meet, the things I make—it’s all one messy, beautiful thread, pulling me back to what our ancestors knew: true north isn’t out there somewhere. It’s in here. Where’s yours pointing you?

Conclusion

Traveling the World has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. It has taught me to appreciate the beauty of diversity, the importance of cultural understanding, and the joy of adventure. I hope that everyone gets the opportunity to travel and explore the World, as it can truly change your life.