Standing in the Prague airport, waiting to board my first flight toward home, I was not the same woman who’d arrived nearly two months ago. The six weeks I’d just spent wandering through Central Europe and the Balkans had changed me. This realization brought with it a different kind of anxiety — how do I go home to a life that expects the old version of me? I felt this after that first unexpected overseas trip, but not as intensely.
Before crossing that bridge, I had a layover in Stockholm.
As I stepped off the plane in the Arlanda Airport, a flood of memories nearly bowled me over. I was back where it all began. The echoes of that twenty-six-year-old naive and starry-eyed version of me lingered everywhere. The last time I was in that airport, I left determined to see as much of the world as possible. My breath caught in my chest as I walked past the restaurant where I’d eaten breakfast my first morning in Europe. My eyes were continually drawn back to the windows, drinking in the same evergreen forest that captivated me nearly seven years before.
My flight to the US was delayed multiple times and finally canceled around 10 PM. All of us passengers were given a room at one of the hotels inside the airport. As I joined the line with the other tired, hungry, and annoyed travelers waiting to check in, there was a sense of camaraderie in our shared misfortune. On a whim, a few of us decided to meet back at the bar after getting settled.
Once in my room, the clean, comfortable-looking bed was hard to resist after nearly two months of sleeping in a tent or a hostel bunk. However, after all that time alone, I was craving human interaction. With a longing glance back at the cozy bed, I closed the door and took the elevator back down to the bar.
Only one other person showed up, a woman about my age with curly auburn hair. I had the sense that she’d been on a backpacking adventure too. Why? I can’t say for sure, but there’s something in the way we hostel dwellers move about the world that lets us easily recognize one another.
The bougie bar was full of sleek, gleaming surfaces and dim lighting. Everywhere I looked were well-dressed businessmen who, I knew from personal experience, would spend their time in the city enduring endless meetings and boring dinners. There was no amount of money that would get me to trade my backpacker ways for that corporate suit again. It felt like I’d lived an entire lifetime since I’d last seen this airport.
I’d guessed correctly. My new friend, Amber, had also been backpacking around parts of Europe, sleeping in hostels and adventuring on her own terms. I ordered a glass of my favorite Scotch whisky to celebrate the unexpected turn of events that had me ending the grand adventure in the same place the dream was born. That drink cost more than any meal I’d eaten in the last six weeks, and it was worth every penny. The airport was the same, but I was not.
We took turns sharing stories about the highlights of our separate trips, our misadventures, and the people we’d met along the way. I was delighted to meet a kindred spirit, another woman out exploring the world on her own. We had similar perspectives on life and travel, informed by years of stepping out of our comfortable little lives and into a wider, unknown world.
Surrounded by executive types in their freshly pressed suits talking about next quarter’s projections, I was momentarily transported back in time. I’d endured many a night like they were having during my years in the corporate world. Suddenly, I was twenty-six-year-old Annie on that very first night in Stockholm nearly seven years before.
I sat at a table nearby in my uncomfortable yet professional attire. After a long, boring day in the local office, I wished for more time to explore the city, I eavesdropped on two women talking about their recent travels. Jealousy coursed through my body. I desperately wanted that life — to have my own catalog of travel experiences to look back on, interesting stories to share, and the freedom to see the world on my own terms.
Just as quickly, I was back talking to Amber, and the last seven years came full circle with wild and brilliant clarity. My heart felt near to bursting as I listened to her tell me about her favorite spots in Edinburgh, a city I planned to revisit the following summer. I was hit with a rush of gratitude for that twenty-six-year-old version of me who found a dream in that same airport all those years ago and had the courage to chase it. Tears pricked the back of my eyes as, in my mind, I raised a glass to her with a knowing smile. Yes, girl. We did it. Cheers to us.
Fun fact — Amber and I have stayed in touch over the years, continuing to check in about life and travel adventures. It’s been a delight to see the other journeys we’ve taken in the (almost) decade since that night in Stockholm. I truly hope our paths will cross again somewhere in the world and we can grab a drink again in real life!
