I started thinking the other day about my first solo backpacking trip abroad. I was 20 years old and just finishing up a semester abroad in London. After 6 months of city life as well as short trips to European destinations with friends and a few on my own, I still had money left over and was ready go backpacking.

I said goodbye to Garret, a good friend I had made in London and one of the last to stick around the city as long as me, and boarded a plane to Nice, France. What followed was three months of magic that I don’t think I will ever experience again.

Maybe it’s because it was my first real backpacking trip completely arranged and for the most part traveled on my own. Maybe there’s just something about Europe. Regardless, those three months hold a very special place in my heart that no trip has ever succeeded and I don’t think ever will.

My first time was special.

Florence, Italy 2007 by Bobbi Lee Hitchon

I wandered with only my backpack, passport and a point in shoot. This was before I had a fancy SLR or laptop to carry around. I had a journal, which I wrote in every day and used communal computers for maybe 15 minutes a week to tell my dad I was alive. I only had three months so I savored every moment.

I can remember raving about every sight, every taste and every person I met.

Of course I still have had and continue to have those moments I had in Europe, but not as much. I just feel a bit numb to a lot of things that would probably amaze any person on a ten-day trip.

Have I just been at it too long? Have I spoiled travel for myself?

As quick as the thought hit me, I went on the defense.

That trip to Europe was magical. Most people’s first backpacking experiences are. And there is definitely something magical and romantic about Europe. All these reasons made coming home after that trip especially hard. In fact, I’ll say it, I went into a slight depression.

And by slight I mean I gained 20 pounds and barely left my apartment for a semester. But not just any semester. The semester I turned 21 years old, which definitely means something in the States.

Fucking, Austria 2007 by Bobbi Lee Hitchon

I remember sitting in my apartment with my dad a month after returning to Glassboro, NJ and crying about how hard it was to return to my regular routine after the experience I had had. I vowed to myself that night to travel when I could for as long as I could the next time I had the chance.

That leads me to today. I’ve been on the move for one year, seven months and 13 days. In a trip that long, almost everyone will claim a home and start to adapt at various points. And with any form of “home” a bit “travel” seems to go away I think.

It’s almost become more about the lifestyle than it has about the sights for me. But it’s worth it. It’s a fantastic lifestyle. One where I feel stable, but things still seem new.

So maybe this long term trip hasn’t ruined travel for me, but introduced me to a new kind of lifestyle.

You never get over your first love, but you’ll often find one that’s better suited. So just as I may never get over that fling with Europe. I’m happier with my stable commitment to the world. But don’t worry Europe-we’ll rendezvous again!

Neuschwanstein, Germany 2007 by Bobbi Lee Hitchon