Every trip begins with a certain degree of angst. Leaving is hard. Leaving my loyal dog, my safe home, and my children.

It’s all a little confronting.

I pack a month in advance, then spend the final weeks before takeoff checking whether I’ve taken too much or, more importantly, forgotten anything. My watercolour travel diary and small travel box of freshly squeezed paints are always the first to pack. I see my trips as painting retreats. I know I can sit or stand anywhere, see an image, and paint it as I allow the energy of the moment to become imprinted in my heart.

   Yet, I find this next trip is causing me more anxiety than usual. Is my luggage too heavy? How many steps will there be at the train station? Will I be able to hoist my bags up the steps and onto the train? Friends say, “Ask for help,” but I have been to Italy many times, and even the people working there often avoid lifting a bag. Perhaps this time will be different. Every year, I have a bit more gray hair, so maybe this time they’ll see me differently.

Last time I was in Milan, a couple of gypsy women grabbed my bag and placed it on a train, assuring us it was the right one. Suddenly, I realized this was all wrong. I called to my loyal companion, urging her to quickly throw her bags off. We were on the wrong train. We jumped, hearts racing. I didn’t realize how traumatized I was until I had some sleepless nights worrying about returning to that same train station. I even looked into whether a taxi could take me to Verona, but I would need a bank loan to pay for that.

   So, back to Milano – this time alone, this time with a ferocious sense of independence, and this time with an unshakable resolve to keep my wits about me.

But traveling is a passion. The joy of arriving in a new place, connecting with different people, and immersing myself in new and fascinating cultures satisfies my sense of adventure and feeds my soul.

I have an unquenchable love and belief in the innate goodness of the human species. Although I am well aware of the horrors some individuals and groups have committed and continue to commit, I believe the need to belong – to be part of a group or community – sometimes draws people into the darkest places.

  Yet, the vast majority of humanity comes from a place of kindness, grace, and love – a quiet, profound reservoir of goodness that often goes unnoticed but is always present, waiting to be discovered. I have found it in the gentle smile of a stranger, the warmth of a shared meal, and the kindness of those who offer directions in a foreign tongue, seeking nothing in return but the shared human connection that binds us all.

That is what I seek and so often find on my journeys – the quiet gestures of care, the unspoken bonds that form in the smallest moments, and the simple, enduring truth that humanity is, at its core, capable of extraordinary compassion.

If you believe it, so it is. In each step, each encounter, and each new horizon, I find this truth reaffirmed – a gentle reminder that no matter how far I wander, I am never truly alone.