I love travel. It broadens the mind and the waistline in equal measures. I often sit in my London flat just consumed by wanderlust, endlessly scrolling the painstakingly composed travel photos on Pinterest and dreaming about one day seeing them myself. But adventure and that perfect Instagram photo is something that you want, not necessarily what you need.
What did I need? Two weeks ago all I needed was something to nourish my soul and someone to tell me that it was all going to be ok. I wanted Rome, Dubrovnik and Ibiza; but all I needed was my Mum.
And I guess that pretty perfectly sums up my travel personality. Trips fade into a distant memory after a few months, but those singular moments of surreal joy I take with me everywhere. I remember driving though pitch black country lanes in Devon trying to find a pub with friends, sitting on top of a boat on the Nile at 9am drinking cocktails, the first time I stood in front of the Mona Lisa, buying something at Tiffany on 5th Ave in New York and feeling just so grown up, being among the first in the world to see the sun rise on New Years day in Gisborne, and of course that hug with my Mum.