love – Wander With Millie

People always say travel changes you.

And it does, but not in the “spiritual awakening” kind of way that Instagram captions make it seem. It changes you in quieter, messier ways. It forces you to face yourself when things don’t go as planned. It makes you deal with fear, loneliness, and discomfort, and it slowly teaches you that you can handle more than you think.

These are the five experiences that changed me. Not the “best photo” moments, but the ones that actually made me see life differently.

5. Losing my Luggage in Barcelona

I’ll never forget standing at baggage claim in the Barcelona airport, watching every other suitcase appear except mine.

At first, I tried to stay calm. Told myself it was fine…maybe it would come on the next flight. But as the crowd cleared out and the belt stopped moving, that calm cracked. The weight of being completely alone in a country where I barely spoke the language hit me all at once.

And I just started crying. Right there, in the middle of the airport. A kind Italian man in the lost luggage line tried to help me fill out the form and calm me down lol. He was speaking in broken English, and I was trying to answer between sobs. I remember thinking, What am I doing here? Why did I think I could do this alone?

I went to my meeting point at the airport that day feeling stupid and small, again with no luggage. Everyone around me seemed effortlessly cool and confident. Solo travelers swapping stories, planning their next stops and I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d made a mistake.

But , something shifted.

That’s when I met Chris, Brett, and Natalie. Three people who didn’t know me but treated me like I belonged. They lent me clothes, helped me laugh about it, and reminded me how good people can be. For the next two days, I walked around Barcelona in borrowed outfits, a bought Zara outfit for nightclubbing, and I felt freer than I ever had. Quite literally. I partied that first night til 9am with no care in the world.

It’s crazy how quickly life can flip. One moment, I’m crying in an airport convinced I wasn’t cut out for solo travel, and two days later, I was laughing with new friends over cheap wine, realizing that losing everything I thought I needed gave me something more important: confidence.

That trip started with me wanting to go home. It ended with me knowing I could handle anything.

4. The British Man in Prague

I was coming off one of the worst heartbreaks of my life. The kind that leaves you questioning everything; your worth, your intuition, your ability to ever trust again (big man hater here). I told myself I was done. That men were the problem. That I’d rather be alone forever than risk being hurt again.

And then I met him.

He was British. Charming, good looking, beautiful eyes and extremely funny. We met in a small, crowded bar for a drinking crawl in Prague where the music was too loud and the floor was sticky and the bar was in a cave. During the night, we spent endless hours dancing, drinking cheap beer and wine and even shared a moment in a shared poncho while it was pouring rain down on us.

We danced until the lights came on. Talked for hours about nothing and everything. It wasn’t love, and it was never meant to be. But that night reminded me of something I didn’t realize I’d lost, the ability to let my guard down.

He didn’t try to impress me. He didn’t make promises. He just listened. I can still remember how light I felt walking home that night, lighter than I had in months.

We still follow each other. We still like each other’s posts every once in a while. And it makes me smile; not because of what it was, but because of what it represented. He reminded me that not everyone will hurt me. That not every story ends in heartbreak.

Sometimes people come into your life for one night, and that’s all it takes to shift something in you.

3. London and Ireland with Andi

This trip was a whirlwind. A perfect mix of chaos and laughter and exhaustion.

Ceilings literally caving in at our hostel, staying out until 5 a.m., sprinting through airports, barely making flights, it was ridiculous. But it was also one of the most fun and freeing trips I’ve ever had.

Andi and I have been best friends for years, but this trip showed me just how deep our friendship runs. Traveling together isn’t always easy. You see every side of someone. The tired, cranky, hungover, lost, anxious sides and it either breaks you or bonds you. For us, it bonded us.

We laughed our way through every disaster. We figured things out as we went. There was something grounding about knowing that even when everything went wrong, we had each other’s backs.

People always assume we’re together (we’re not lol), but that trip made me realize something I didn’t know I needed; that soulmates can come in different forms.

Not every “great love story” is romantic. Sometimes it’s two people who just get it. Who match your energy, your chaos, and your humor. Who see you for who you are and still sign up for the next adventure with you anyway.

That’s what this trip was for me, a reminder that the people meant for you don’t always show up the way you expect them to.

2. Japan – Learning to Stay Open

Japan was one of those trips that changed how I see everything.

From the second we landed, I felt it. The calm, the kindness, the way the world feels slower there. The people were so generous it almost didn’t make sense. Strangers stopped to help us when we were lost, walked us to train stations, smiled just to be kind.

We spent the trip bouncing between Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka; trying on kimonos, visiting shrines, eating everything in sight, getting lost, and laughing about it. There was one night where a group of macho men literally carried us down to our seats at a bar (don’t ask), and another where we saw Mt. Fuji peek through the clouds for two minutes and just stood there speechless.

It was one of the first times I felt completely present.

Japan taught me that confidence isn’t about having it all together. It’s about showing up with curiosity. It’s about being kind even when you have no idea what’s going on. It’s about slowing down enough to notice how beautiful life can be when you stop trying to control it.

That trip made me want to live with more intention. To be more observant. To treat people better. To be okay with not knowing what comes next. It helped soften my heart.

1. Machu Picchu – Realizing I Could Start Over

I don’t think I’ve ever been more physically or emotionally drained than I was climbing Montana MachuPicchu.

Three hours of uphill hiking at high altitude; I couldn’t breathe, my legs burned, and I genuinely thought I wouldn’t make it. Every few steps I had to stop. I was battling my body and my brain, both telling me to quit.

Halfway up, I started tearing up. Not because of the pain, but because of what it represented.

I was still teaching at the time. I loved my students, but the job was breaking me. I was constantly sick, constantly tired, constantly pretending I was fine. I’d smile for photos, post about classroom life, act like everything was okay, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t.

That hike became a mirror. Every step felt like climbing out of the life I’d been stuck in. The altitude made me dizzy, but the realization hit harder. I didn’t have to stay somewhere that made me unhappy just because it was safe.

When I finally reached the top, I completely broke down. I was crying and laughing and gasping for air all at once. And for the first time in a long time, I felt free.

That mountain was the moment everything clicked. I realized I could choose my hard; stay where I was and stay stuck, or take a risk on myself.

I chose myself. I left teaching. I started writing. I started a brand new career in travel. I started telling the truth again.

That climb didn’t just change how I saw the world, it changed how I saw me.

What travel really taught me

Travel doesn’t fix you. It reveals you.

It strips away the distractions, the comfort, the control, the routine, and shows you what’s really there.

It’s standing in an airport crying because you lost everything and realizing you’re still okay. It’s dancing with a stranger who reminds you that love isn’t dead. It’s laughing your way through chaos with your best friend. It’s getting lost in Tokyo and realizing how kind people can be. It’s climbing a mountain and realizing you’ve been carrying way too much.

Those are the moments that change you. Not the perfect photos. Not the bucket list checkmarks. The human moments. The honest ones.

Travel didn’t make my life easier — it made it real.

Birthdays feel different in your twenties.

(Pictures above are my 21st birthday (camo queen) and my 27th birthday).

They hold a quiet kind of gravity, the weight of what was, what could have been, and what still might be.

I remember turning 21, student teaching in a first-grade classroom, in love, living off Starbucks sandwiches from my 25-hour work weeks. Back then, life felt certain. I thought I’d be married by 27, have kids by 30, and settle into a calm kind of happiness. That was the dream, the one everyone from my small hometown seemed to hand down. The one that promised comfort, love, and belonging.

And honestly, life felt easier when the world told you who to be.

When dreams came ready-made and you didn’t yet question if they truly belonged to you.

I wished for love. For a family. For a life that felt full because someone else was in it. I didn’t know that happiness could change its shape. That sometimes it wears a ring, and other times it looks like a one-way ticket and a suitcase with room to grow.

Looking back, I almost envy that 21-year-old girl. The one who thought she had it all figured out. The one who believed love was the destination, not something you’d meet, lose, and rebuild along the way.

The years between 21 and 27 carried me through classrooms and airports, heartbreak and healing, friendships that faded and others that bloomed. They carried me to Chicago, a city that somehow feels like both chaos and home.

Twenty-seven doesn’t look the way I imagined it would.
It looks stronger. Softer. More mine.

This year feels like a quiet kind of power. Not the kind that shouts, “I’ve figured it all out,” but the kind that whispers, “I’m still becoming.” I’ve learned it’s okay to change your mind. To walk away from the version of life you once thought was the only one. To start again and again until it feels right.

If my 21-year-old self could see me now, she might think I missed the mark. No husband. No kids. No classroom of my own. She might even think I’m old (LOL). But I think she’d also be proud. Proud that I’ve built something from uncertainty. That I’ve learned to be okay with being alone. That I’ve created a life filled with love through family, friends, coworkers, and the things that light me up; travel, writing, and independence.

Because what I’ve learned is this:

Success doesn’t always look like the life you planned. Sometimes it looks like becoming the kind of person who keeps showing up for herself. Who grows. Who changes. Who finds meaning in the in-between.

And yes, sometimes it’s lonely. There are nights I still crave the love I thought I’d have by now, or wonder why my timing feels off. But I’ve realized timing isn’t a race. It’s a rhythm.

We all move to our own.

Turning 27 has been emotional in the best way. It’s about letting go of old dreams and making peace with that. It’s understanding that it’s not failure when life changes direction. It’s evolution. It’s proof that you’re still growing.

You can still want love and marriage and family. But you can also want yourself. Your peace. Your purpose. Your independence.

So here’s to 27.

To the girl I was and the woman I’m still becoming.
To the dreams I’ve outgrown and the ones still waiting for me.
And to the quiet realization that life doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s to be something beautiful.

Tag: love

From Crying In An Airport To Crying On A Mountain. These Are the 5 Trips That Changed Me.