My first two trips out of North America were to Portugal and China. I hadn’t visited Europe before, and I only visited Hong Kong once, nearly two decades before. 

Both trips were the result of flight deals. My friends and I traveled together—a group of four, and then a separate group of seven. We shared rooms, bathrooms, and even beds (or couches). I borrowed a friend’s backpack for the trips. 

I was in my early 20s, and I paid little attention to taking care of myself. After a few days in Portugal, I had lost my voice and my stomach was giving me trouble. I smartened up and felt much better in China.

Those trips were amazing. They set the foundation for the trips that happened after, and I would eventually meet my wife and move from my hometown—a suburb just outside of Toronto—to Hong Kong and New York City. They happened on a budget, but it didn’t feel like it, and I probably wouldn’t be able to pay money to make them happen again if I wanted to (scheduling, energy, expectations, etc).

In those moments though, I didn’t realize how much these trips would mean to me. There was a lot of excitement, but no sense of finitude. I felt like I could travel like this for the rest of my life, and I was delighted by it. Because I wasn’t so busy savoring the trips, I actually felt more present than I would have otherwise.