Letters to Myself: Entry Thirty-Six
Prompt: Is There a Place I’ve Always Wanted to Go?
A reflection on wanderlust, history, and the quiet longing to see the world, and why some places call to us long before we arrive.
As I write this, it feels like there are a billion places I want to see. Especially the hidden ones, much like the quiet cities, the overlooked corners of the world you never imagined yourself reaching.
I think back to my time overseas, wandering through farmland and open valleys. As someone who loves the outdoors, the scenery stayed with me. The land moved like an ocean — rolling, wavy, alive — but instead of water, it was filled with crops and fields you almost wished you were tending yourself. It was a small moment, tucked into a valley, but it became a memory that anchored an entire place.
When I think about where I want to go next, where my curiosity is pulling me now, I keep coming back to Greece.
Lately, I’ve found myself drawn to its aesthetic. The blues, the whites, the way land and water meet. Places like Oia, Firostefani, and Imerovigli feel almost unreal. You see photos of those cliffs and domes and think you understand the view, until you realize you don’t want to see it anymore. You want to stand there. To feel the height. To look out over that endless blue with your whole body present.
Living in the Midwest, you grow up around water. The lakes, rivers, familiar shorelines. But the ocean is different. It carries a kind of gravity. Seeing pure blue water stretch endlessly, watching your hands and feet disappear beneath its surface, that experience feels grounding in a way that’s hard to explain. It reminds you how small you are, and somehow, how alive.
Greece also carries something else I deeply admire: history. Walking where others once lived. Seeing architecture shaped by hands long gone. Reading words written centuries before us and realizing we are still in conversation with them. There’s a quiet reverence in that, like walking alongside ghosts who once stood where you’re standing now.
And there’s something uniquely transformative about being far from home. So far that returning isn’t simple. So far that missing your mom suddenly feels real in a way it doesn’t when you’re a short drive away. You pack a bag, carry a few belongings, and step into the unknown. That, to me, feels like one of the truest expressions of being alive, especially in a world where so many of us experience life through screens.
So yes, Greece is the place I’m longing for right now. The ocean blue I haven’t yet seen. The history I want to walk through. The clarity that comes from distance.
I know that once I go, the list will only grow longer. But I also know this: I don’t want to look back one day and wish I had gone when my heart was already asking me to.
That’s why we travel.
To see. To feel. To remember that the world is wider than our routines, and that wonder is still waiting for us.
This post is part of my "Letters to Myself" series — a weekly free-write blog where I explore personal growth, curiosity, and healing through simple prompts. Sometimes reflective, sometimes fun, but always real. Thank you for being here.
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Photo by Kyle Gare
