In my late teens a good friend of mine moved to the UK with her family. My mother offered to pay for me to visit her and of course, I took the offer. It was my first time travelling solo outside of North America.
It was a long journey seated right in the middle of the plane surrounded shoulder to shoulder blasting drum and bass from my ear plugs. A recipe to make me feel ill most of the flight. Well worth it though.
I had such a fun time hanging out with my childhood friend. Walking the sights and sounds of Liverpool. Admiring the slower pace Europeans live. Not the typical rush rush I grew up around. Checking out the multitude of pubs and practically developing a six pack from the belly laughs I got from the northerner banter.
I loved their accent and they loved mine. I felt like I fit in like a glove. A perfect match to my sense of humour. Something I didn’t find often from my hometown. It was the first time in my life I saw myself living somewhere else from where I was from. The trip opened my eyes to the possibility of living abroad and that there are places out there that can feel like home other than the one you came from.