So today I was thinking about things about myself, that I hide from other people because I am embarrassed to admit them. I find so many blogs are filled with seemingly perfect people, with perfect lives. Flaws are normal, they make us individual, so I am going to write about and start to accept mine.
Here is my confession: I don't really like travelling.
Yes, I swoon over pictures of norway, but actually I quite like being at home.
In New York I felt lonely. In Europe I struggle to eat because I can't explain my allergies. Spicy food makes me so ill. Acid comes out of my nose. I always get sunburnt and flying just exhausts me. I have mega passport paranoia and I am not good at asking for help when I am stuck. I have no desire to wander with a backpack. I feel awkward in other people's homes and I have nightmares.
I like my pillows and bedsheets, my pets and my favourite mug.
Confession over. I know that my love of home and distrust of travel comes from my need to be in control, uncertainty is stressful for me. I do however, love travelling to see my family. I adore my brother's home in Kentucky and love walking his dogs. At my sisters apartment in Berlin I feel cosy and love to borrow her clothes. What makes travel worthwhile for me is people, not places.... and I'm not too ashamed to say it.