A Story Worth Telling

 I've tried to write this 'last post' dozens of times. Ways to take it, titles to give it, they’ve been circling around in my head from the moment I boarded the plane ten months ago to return home. Nothing sounded right. The right note wasn’t being hit. None had the final crescendo I was looking for.

A friend asked bluntly, “Are you writing what you wanted it to be, or what it was?” That question lingered. The truth is, I had to stop seeking the perfect ending and accept the ending I lived.

Ten months have passed, and while I still catch myself saying I could’ve sworn I was in Thailand just a month ago, I’ve done a lot. There was a winter break full of self-reflection and reverse culture shock, the first chance to step back and realize these experiences would continue to shape me long after they’d ended. Then came another semester in Japan, where I stood on things I’d once said and went back on others. That time brought a new set of relationships, new adventures, and new ways of thinking that shifted what I thought I knew. Another summer back home meant more reflection and more change. In between the bigger trips, smaller journeys managed to leave me with the same emotions as the longer ones. Through it all, I realized it doesn’t always take a worldwide trip for someone to leave their mark on you; sometimes, three days is enough to completely crack you open.

I can say that the gap year served its purpose. I left having no idea what I wanted to study or where I wished to plant my feet. In a few days, I’ll be boarding a plane to Ireland to study business. But the truth is, this year has done so much more than just help me decide those two things. It’s given me a perspective I won’t take for granted. Comfort in knowing we’re all still figuring it out. And the understanding that true impact comes from the people you were with, and the goodbyes that came with them.

It’s been ten months since I said goodbye to some of the people I traveled with, and the real truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever say hello to them again. Some I’ve reconnected with and had to say goodbye to once more. Others, I know it’s not a matter of if but when we meet again. But for a few, there’s the reality that maybe that was it.

When that thought crosses my mind, I settle on one question: what impact did I have on them? I see it in the way goodbyes unfold; the faltering of words, the fight to hold back tears, the scrunch of your face, how it’s suddenly hard to look someone in the eyes, or even harder to look away. I used to think goodbyes were the unfortunate byproduct of living as I want; meeting people, hearing their stories, chasing connection. Now I see them as the best part. In that moment, you see the weight of what you shared, and whether or not you see them again, you hope the chapters you were part of help them write the ones you won't be there for.

Love, I’ve come to see, isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence. It’s the choice to fully show up in someone’s life, whether for months or for only a few short days. Every moment matters because my story isn’t written by me alone. It’s shaped by every person I meet.

And yes, the goodbyes hurt. Sometimes it’s tears in someone else’s eyes that finally break you open. Sometimes it’s silence. Both the five-hour and five-minute goodbyes stay with you, reminding you that it’s not about how long you had, but how deeply you lived it together.

I often wonder if I’m enough, a photographer, a writer, a friend. What steadies me is how people let me into their stories, and how I've learned to love them in return. Not perfectly, but honestly.

And maybe that’s the truth I’ve landed on: we don’t always get to tie everything together in a neat bow. But we do carry the marks people leave on us, and in the way someone says goodbye, you see the proof that you’ve left a mark on them too. That’s not just an ending. That’s the evidence of a story worth telling.