My Dearest Self,

Thirty years have passed, and yet, I can still feel the restless pull of distant horizons, the way the wind once whispered secrets only I could hear. Do you remember? You were a girl with an insatiable hunger for the world, your soul stitched together with dreams of faraway lands and stories yet to be lived. That hunger never left you, and oh, what a life it led you to.

You were born in a quiet town, wrapped in the familiar comforts of rolling hills and babbling brooks, but even as a child, you knew you would not stay. The well-worn pages of National Geographic, the stories told by your well-traveled grandparents—these were not mere amusements. They were promises. Invitations. And you accepted them with the full force of your being.

Do you remember the first time your feet touched foreign soil? You were still a teenager, eyes wide, heart pounding, as you stepped onto a cobblestone street in Europe. The air was different, thick with the scent of history, the murmur of voices in languages you longed to understand. It was intoxicating, that first taste of adventure. You knew, then and there, that you would not lead an ordinary life.

So you didn’t.

With a degree in anthropology tucked beneath your arm and a passport that never had time to collect dust, you flung yourself into the unknown. A backpack, a journal, and a thirst for understanding—that was all you needed. From the spice-laden markets of Marrakech to Kyoto’s silent, sacred temples, you walked through the world with reverence, collecting moments like jewels. You listened, you learned, you laughed under foreign stars, and you became richer for it.

But adventure, my dear, is not always grand. It is not always golden sunsets and joyous discoveries. There were goodbyes—too many to count. Train stations where you stood alone, the weight of farewells pressing against your ribs. Nights where solitude felt heavier than your backpack, when the vastness of the world reminded you just how small you were.

And yet, you would not have traded a second of it.

For in those moments, you found your truest self—not just in the extraordinary, but in the beautifully ordinary. The kindness of a stranger offering tea on a stormy night. The quiet understanding between two souls who spoke different languages but shared the same laughter. The realization that no matter how far you traveled, how many borders you crossed, the human heart was the same everywhere.

Now, as I sit here with the weight of years upon me, I smile at the thought of you. Young, fearless, standing at the precipice of a life most would not dare to lead. You did not just travel—you became part of the world itself. You became a storyteller, a witness to the beauty and complexity of humanity.

And if I could reach back, across time, and whisper one thing to you, it would be this: keep going. The road will not always be easy, but it will always be worth it.

With all the wisdom of the years you have yet to live,
Helen