Lately, I find that there is a different quality of thoughts in my travels. In my youth, I traveled to seek for a new life, metaphorically and sometimes literally. I was seeking to find a space I could see and know myself, a place for a future self. Every city was attractive in its own way, I have never left a country without wondering if I could one day live there more permanently so my life could finally begin. I feel now, as I get older and so much of my life has already been lived, the vibe of traveling is less about soaking my soul in the possibilities of what my life could one day look like. Instead, I find myself wondering of my younger self – what would she have made of this place and what could have been her life if she had once lived here? I felt that strongly in my last visit to a city that deeply moved me, and I had not been deeply moved by a new place since I left my fullest life in Turkey 10 years ago. That kind of heart in mouth, widened eyes, adrenalin thumping moved.

This happened in my short week in Tunis last summer. I cannot find the vocabulary to express my romantic attraction for the city. One thing was certain to me – if I opened this door when I was younger, I would never have left such an enchanting dream. The city seemed bloated with melancholia and broken grandeur. In her ruins lay memories of ambition, and in her people were a clean humility. Tunis unlocked a memory of me that could have become, had I met and loved her in my days of innocence.

As I took off from Carthage Airport, I wondered about a life full of wandering. Although I have been hovering in that lacuna of traveler and native for more than 20 years, I knew that soon, these boots would no longer be made for walking. It was time to admit that to live for the present, I needed to commit to my base. The days of traveling to discover a future, or question the past, will eventually subside. And I will have to fall in love with the here and now.