Tonight I’m in a kitchen in Vienna, Austria, making dinner with my workaway host, Snowbell.
It’s the first time in over six months I’ve cooked a proper meal with someone.
That alone feels significant.
The last 6 months has been movement airports, guesthouses, cafés, street food stalls. In Asia especially, I didn’t find many places with kitchens worth using. And truthfully, eating out was cheaper than buying groceries and cooking for one.
So I adapted. Bowls of noodles. Plates of rice. Quick meals between train rides and rehearsals.
Efficient. Easy. Solo.
But tonight and the next 3 weeks to come will be different.
There’s chopping. Stirring. The clink of pans. The quiet rhythm of preparing something together. No rush. No transaction. Just conversation drifting naturally between steps in the recipe.
And we’re speaking English.
No translator app.
No scanning faces to make sure I’ve understood correctly.
No mental gymnastics before responding.
Just words flowing.
It’s strange what begins to feel luxurious after months on the road.
A shared kitchen.
A shared table.
A shared language.
When I left Canada last October, I knew I was leaving routine behind. I didn’t realize how much the small, ordinary rituals anchor you —cooking, setting a table, passing salt, laughing mid-sentence without searching for vocabulary.
Travel expands you. It challenges you. It humbles you.
But it’s the simple things that steady you.
Tonight, standing in a warm kitchen in Austria, I’m reminded that joy doesn’t always come from the grand adventure.
Sometimes it comes from garlic in a pan, easy conversation, and the comfort of not being alone at the stove.
Simple things bring simple joys.
And after months of motion, simple feels extraordinary.