The last couple of nights, I’ve had the distinct pleasure of dining with delightful company.

This evening, I dined with one of my oldest friends. The night before, one of my newest.

The life of a nomad is exhilarating and lonely. As an extrovert, I am often longing to make connections with people, befriending a stranger and kneading into their story. I keep surprising myself at how utterly fascinating people are – very rarely is their boring, socially-acceptable facade what actually lies beneath the surface.

This evening, I drank a beer and knived a burger, talking about the future with a reflection of the past.

Last night, I watered and sushied and discussed about the abstract and the flickers of history with a member of my present.

I find moments like these to be refreshing. An hour or two to break away from the mundane to listen to the heartbeat of another’s world. That touch of humanity to remind you that you are not alone with your thoughts. That beauty in the laughter of a fresh joke. “Knock knock – who’s there? Interrupting cow. Interruptin–MOOOO!”

It’s moments like these that make me want to pull out a paintbrush and put to canvas the lift in my spirits. It’s nights like these that remind me why I travel: to find a world that changes my own.