I created this blog in 2015 about the literal and metaphorical journey of exploring new spaces. I was 19 at the time, and quite honestly, I was feeling a bit lost. I was attending university in my hometown and feeling like I wanted… needed … to be anywhere else in the world. I felt stuck. I thought travel would provide a sense of escapism that I was so desperately craving. I knew I wanted to live a life of purpose and passion and it didn’t feel like I was doing that in the comfortable confines of my hometown. I wasn’t even sure how to begin exploring and unpacking those feelings. So I began to write. I filled the limitless space of the internet with my thoughts about life and what I’ve learned along the way. I wrote endlessly about my life’s musings. For every post I published, there were probably five fragments of drafted and trashed writings that I was too insecure or fearful to give the light of day. When I look back on the amalgam of things I’ve documented over the years, I really haven’t written a ton about travel at all. As it turns out, there have been so many incredible, beautiful, unforeseen messages in the metaphorical exploration of spaces. Perhaps the most important of all.

But when I think back to the dream that 19-year-old Jenna had about life and about this blog, I remember that wide open spaces was largely a dreamscape about traveling the world. I didn’t know that over the next 7 years, I would begin the fulfill that dream. And yet, I haven’t written much about those travels on this blog. I recently began to ponder why. Especially given that it was one of the dreams that ignited my desire to write and publish this blog. I suppose I’ve thought that it wouldn’t be helpful or interesting. Maybe there wasn’t one major takeaway from a trip. It could come off as bragging. Reasons mostly consisting of caring too much what others think. Hmmm… I probably have a blog somewhere about how that’s no way to live.

The reality is, not every travel experience has a thesis. Not every travel story is Eat Pray Love. Sometimes travel is just a delicately knitted together experience of fun, food, a new culture and some challenges. Sometimes it’s just pure joy and I don’t necessarily have a life lesson to share from a trip. Together, a life of travel does add up to truly change a person for the better. But on a smaller scale, sometimes it’s just fun to write about and it doesn’t need to be Cheryl Strayed’s Wild to be deserving of a moment of writing.

So alas, it’s my blog, and I shall write.

This past summer, I travelled to Portugal with my boyfriend for a work trip. My creative story-telling side ran wild. It often does when I travel. The places. The culture. The people. It’s fascinating, imaginative, it opens up the door of boundless possibilities. About what life would be like to live in a different time or place. There’s an exciting discomfort and whimsy of a location brand new, yet a nostalgia that I can’t quite comprehend. There’s something so special about the intersection of the present moment as a traveler enveloped in cityscapes with ages of stories and secrets hidden in their crevices. I adore writing about the stories, real and imagined, that come to life through travel. Here’s an excerpt from my time in Portugal.

Welcome to Portugal. There’s a charming juxtaposition of old and new, history and presence, sufficiency and innovation. Trellises cascade down colorful, centuries old buildings. Cafes line labyrinth-like alleyways welcoming tourists and locals alike for an afternoon espresso. It’s a moment to recharge energy amidst the bustle of a city of adventures crammed into a few square miles. If you peek past the blinders of chaos, it’s clear that life is sweetly simple for the locals. It’s a gentle nudge that happiness doesn’t come from the hustle.

The air is balmy, but stale with the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. It feels quintessentially European, yet uniquely its own. In quiet, rare moments, you can grasp a fully fresh breath of salty sea air or the sweetness of creamy custard from a bakery making pastel de nata. But only for a moment. Until you’re enveloped in smoke again.

As you walk along crowded city streets, you recognize your innate smallness in the sea of others who’ve come from all over the world. You’ve come to explore the same place, but each of your journeys will be different. You’re alone with your thoughts and don’t know anyone around you, but you can’t help but feel a comfort in feeling small — in knowing that there are so many stories hidden within places and within people that you have a lifetime left to explore.

As dawn approaches and the sun casts golden hour hues against the impeccable architecture of this majestic city, you look at your love and smile. It might just be the wine from Porto, but hand in hand the two of you walk the streets laughing and following a compass of streetlights and echoing music. You walk and sip and laugh and wander and get lost blissfully until another night comes to a close. Obrigada, Portugal.