We went out of town. Just 5 days and 4 nights. It was technically only a few hours from home, though with all the stops it took an entire day each way. You’d have thought we went to another province! I didn’t hate it, but I also didn’t find joy in it the way I once did.

I used to be the girl who could throw a backpack over her shoulder and disappear for the weekend. In my twenties alone I travelled all over Europe and North Africa. Living abroad for over a year, no complaints. Somewhere between then and now a lot of things have changed. Including my desire to travel.

Recently travel meant eight different living situations in two and a half years, across two countries. It has meant car seats, potty breaks, and never knowing where my things are and where to find things at local stores. It has meant crappy beds in unfamiliar rooms, and kids who don’t sleep well.

There’s exactly one upside: because we usually end up sharing a bed with whichever small person can’t settle, my partner and I end up reading and dozing off before 9pm most nights. It’s the closest thing to a silver lining travel has offered me lately.

The rest of it? For the birds.

I still love new sights, I just don’t need them far away anymore. Give me an afternoon drive to somewhere I’ve never stood before, a town I can’t pronounce, a trail with a view I didn’t know existed, and I’m as delighted as I ever was backpacking through a new country. The difference is I don’t need a passport to feel that spark, and I definitely don’t need to sleep there. I want the discovery and my own bed on the same day. Turns out wonder doesn’t require distance, just requires paying attention.

I don’t think this makes me boring, or old, or done with the world. I think it means I finally found a home worth coming back to. That the girl who once needed to keep moving, keep searching, even keep running has turned into a woman who knows exactly where she wants to be.