People love to travel, being one of them I should know. Yet I can't help but feel that our love for travel and discovery puts us in danger of doing too much too soon; and, in so doing losing some of the magic and anticipation that comes with each trip. Sure the world's a big place and it would be beyond presumptuous of me to claim that I've done it all (whatever that means). What I can say with a fair amount of confidence is that I'm lucky to have had the opportunity to follow my travel bug: sundowners on a pier in Honduras; reaching Everest Base Camp among tears of happiness and exhaustion; drinking my way around Ireland / France / Italy / Kentucky...; partaking in a cut throat tuktuk race around Kathmandu; seeing the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. While each experience is different and I guarantee you there are hundreds more (OK, that was bragging. Sorry); the point I want to make here is that no matter how much traveling you do and how many countries you manage to tick of your bucket list by the time you hit 30, the feelings you get from these moments have nothing to do with being away from home. Instead we get these feelings because be really let go and live. So yes I'm lucky, but am I really luckier than someone who has travelled less and yet still 'lived' and embraced new experience closer to home? It would take a lot for me to voluntarily give up traveling yet in recent months I've come to appreciate the travel bug closer to home. With a summer free to do as I pleased, I've made more new friends and discovered new places in my home city than I ever thought possible.