Six Months, Five Countries, Three Continents

Jess and I left home in the United States for Rome early December last year with a plan not to have a plan. Six months later, after crossing three continents and five countries, I feel as if I have learned more than I ever could have imagined. Some of those lessons have been physical, some emotional, and some even spiritual in a way.

We have learned languages, but not just words that other cultures speak because communication is so much more than that. We’ve learned hand gestures, local idioms, cultural nuances, and yes, of course, some words in each language of the respective countries we have visited. Italian, Sicilian (which, as I have mentioned before, is more like Italian spoken in cursive), Arabic, and Albanian, the language we have the best grasp on currently and can even have brief, broken conversations with locals, albeit we are still learning.

We’ve learned that something really special happens when you at least try to speak in the native language of the country you are visiting. Smiles, warmth, and respect are a universal language that takes no studying to recognize, but with a little effort can be unlocked simply by trying to speak the local language.

Further, something we have learned that is arguably even more important than language itself is hand gestures and body language. Jess and I would not call ourselves fluent in any language other than English yet, but we have discovered that language barriers can be broken down with hand gestures, patience, and a true desire to understand and be understood.

We’ve learned to be comfortable being uncomfortable, something I thought I had mastered during my time in the military. The fact of the matter is that being comfortable being uncomfortable is a diminishing skill, and it is much different to practice as a pair of nomads traveling without much of a plan and simply following where the good light leads us.

We’ve learned that food can be a language of its own. Local bakeries that ensure they have at least two fresh sandwiches for the expats who walk down nearly every day for lunch. Sicilian meat markets that excitedly hand out pieces of fried pumpkin for us to try before sending us home with a giant container of it. The boutique restaurant owner who won’t let me order a fish sandwich because she has memorized our order, knows that’s something I won’t like, and refuses to let her delicious food be wasted. Even a street pup that will eat a treat from your hand that we make sure to carry whenever we go out. Food is a language that doesn’t just cross borders, but species too.

We’ve learned to listen to our bodies again, to push when we really want something or when something important is waiting on the other side of the effort. Like a breathtaking photograph of an alpine mountain range where the image is hard-earned through a brutal hike at altitude. Yet just as importantly, we have learned to rest and recharge before pushing too far. Rest and recuperation are luxuries for a tired body, yet there is often too little time for them in a traditional life.

We’ve learned that life moves at whatever speed we allow it to.

Back home, it often felt like there was always another deadline, another obligation, another reason to rush. Days blurred together and weeks disappeared before we realized they were gone. Somewhere between wandering the streets of Sicily, watching storms roll across Tunisia, exploring Kosovo and North Macedonia, and searching for wildlife around the lakes and mountains of Albania, we rediscovered something that modern life seems determined to take from us: the ability to simply be present.

Not every day has been exciting. Not every destination has been life-changing. Some days have been spent doing laundry, grocery shopping, answering emails, or sitting inside waiting for bad weather to pass. Yet even those ordinary moments seem richer when they are not buried beneath a mountain of urgency.

We’ve learned that people are far more alike than they are different. The languages change. The flags change. The food changes. The politics certainly change. But kindness, curiosity, humor, generosity, and love seem to exist everywhere. A smile from a baker in Sicily feels remarkably similar to one from a shopkeeper in Tunisia or a grandmother in Albania. The details are different. The humanity is the same.

Most importantly, we’ve learned that a meaningful life is not something waiting for us somewhere in the future. It is not hidden behind a promotion, a bigger house, a larger bank account, or some distant milestone. It exists in the small moments that are easy to overlook: sharing a meal, helping a stranger, watching a sunset, spotting a bird you’ve never seen before, or having a conversation with someone whose language you barely speak.

Six months, five countries, and three continents have taught us many things. But perhaps the most important lesson is this:

The world is both far larger and far kinder than we were led to believe, and there is no substitute for experiencing it for yourself.