I'm back from my European voyage, and I hate to admit it but I missed you.

I thought about writing to you daily, but I told myself I wouldn't work while on vacation — even though these emails feel more like play and than work.

Other than my desire to write to you about my travels, the thought of work hardly crossed my mind. Too often we think about vacation while at work and about work while on vacation. I'm proud as hell for leaving my compulsion to produce in the states, and letting myself be consumed by the old continent.

Next week, you can expect a longer essay about what three weeks in Europe taught me, but first, I want to share a few words I couldn't get out of my head while abroad. They come from one of my favorite creatives and writers of all time:

Spoiler: My trip was phenomenal, but it wasn't always pretty or comfortable. It hurt — broke my heart even. But that's okay. It changed me.

When I came across that quote years ago, I was confident I understood it. But standing in a crowded train station in Florence, swollen, sweaty, jet-lagged, and lost as a potato in a fruit salad — I felt it. Travel has a way of humbling you. It pulls you out of your familiar rhythms, puts you in someone else’s world, and leaves a mark.

The best memories from my trip weren’t just the beautiful sights, delicious foods, or quaint cafes, but the moments when I was forced to slow down, stumble through a conversation, or rely on the kindness of a stranger.

I’ll share more next week, but for now, remember this: if travel is a form of education, its lessons are rarely as pretty and disposable as the postcards. They're uncomfortable and they linger long after you return home.

Heads up: I'm a changed man, so naturally, you'll start noticing some changes around here. After all, the best journeys are rarely smooth, but always transformative.

Love,