The longest trip I’ve ever taken was basically all of 2017.

I lived in Airbnbs and traveled for the entire year, which sounds glamorous in a one-sentence summary, but was really a mix of adventure, uncertainty, logistics, and learning how little you actually need to feel at home somewhere.

There is something strange about not having one fixed place for that long. Every few weeks, life resets. New kitchen. New bed. New streets. New grocery store. New coffee spot. You learn how to arrive quickly, how to make a temporary place feel familiar, and how to carry your routines with you instead of expecting a place to provide them.

That year taught me that home is not always a permanent address.

Sometimes home is the bag you know how to pack. The playlist you put on in a new city. The first good meal you cook in a borrowed kitchen. The moment a strange neighborhood starts to feel readable. The small comfort of figuring out where the light switches are.

It also taught me that travel is not always about escape. Sometimes it is about expanding your idea of normal. You start to realize how many different ways a day can look, how many different kinds of lives people are living, and how easy it is to confuse your own routine with the only possible version of adulthood.

So yes, my longest trip was 2017.

A whole year of Airbnbs, movement, discovery, and learning that you can be a little untethered and still be okay.