Reflections on a Year of Travel That Reshaped Everything
- Emily Fata
- 43 minutes ago
- 8 min read
An in-depth reflection on a transformative year of travel, filled with growth, meaningful moments, and the experiences that shape a life built on exploration.
Some years pass quietly in the background while life moves along in its familiar rhythm. Then some years grab you by the shoulders and basically shout in your face, “Come on, we have places to be!” This one belonged to the second category, and it carried me across oceans, into new cities, and through moments that shaped me in a way that felt both surprising and entirely overdue.
By the time the calendar flipped toward autumn, it really began to sink in that I had spent thirteen months away from Toronto, the longest I had ever been away from home. The result was a year filled with new memories, new people, and a clearer sense of who I am and where I want to put down roots next.
Spoiler alert, it is Italy. More specifically, Rome (despite the chaos of getting my Italian citizenship, I like to think that if Rome had a formal application process based on adapting to Roman life, my paperwork would be stamped and approved with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”).
Rooted in Movement During a Transformative Year of Travel
Every trip this year felt like a thread that tied together a bigger story. The first months in Rome were the spark, the confirmation that my instinct was right about this being the place I wanted to live. I arrived in January with the kind of nervous excitement that takes over your whole body, the one that bubbles just below the ribs before a significant life shift.
I wandered the city for nearly four months, letting it reveal itself slowly, step by step. I spent time learning the winding streets around Monte Sacro, slipping into cafés that soon became familiar, and making friends that quickly became a significant part of my circle.
It was during those early mornings with cappuccini and those evenings walking past the glowing streetlights that my certainty began to take shape. I was happy to see my family and friends in Calabria, but my heart ached to leave Rome. By the time I left for the south in the spring, the pull to go back to Rome was already very real.
Returning several more times through June, July, and again in September only deepened that feeling. Walking back into the same neighbourhoods, the same piazze, felt like reuniting with an old friend. The comfort was instant.
This year was also a chance to see Toronto with fresh eyes when I returned at the end of the summer. After more than a full year away, stepping back into the familiar skyline was comforting in a way I did not expect. I indulged in all the places I missed, from favourite restaurants to walks along Lake Ontario.
I even explored new corners of the city, like the Schitt’s Creek Rosebud Motel and the Scarborough Bluffs, which felt like tiny adventures in my own backyard. Shoutout to my cousin Marina, visiting from Edmonton, for being my Toronto adventure buddy during her stay!
Every destination had its own energy. Rome felt like love. Calabria felt like grounding. Toronto felt like a homecoming. Each one shifted me in small but meaningful ways, forming the heart of these travel reflections that made the year feel richer than any ever before it.
Moments That Leave Their Mark
This year was filled with moments that built their way into my memory with surprising force.
The most magical one was seeing the Aurora Borealis for the first time in Reykjavík. My cousin Vittoria and I have talked about witnessing the northern lights together since 2019, so standing beneath that glowing green sky felt surreal. If anyone had seen us then, two grown women yelling excitedly into the freezing Icelandic air from our open hotel window, they may have been concerned about our sanity.
We were simply overwhelmed, though, and it felt like a bond that had been years in the making had come full circle in the best possible way.
Another standout moment was kayaking in the Tyrrhenian Sea, the kind of dreamy Mediterranean day that feels like a postcard come to life. The water was calm and glittering. My paddling technique was questionable, but my enthusiasm made up for the mild chaos.
There was also the day I found myself on a sailboat with a boating school in Calabria, and I alternated between awe, exhilaration, and making sure I did not get knocked off the boat as my cousin and I scrambled to the hull to tan under the sun. Thankfully, all was well, and I left feeling a little bolder (and bronzer) than before.
Then came the weekend trip to Napoli with two of my friends, a visit that had been on my list for far too long. Napoli was everything I hoped it would be, vibrant and lively and full of energy. I ate way too much food and laughed more than I expected. That trip reminded me of the joy in simple adventures, short getaways, and spontaneous decisions with some of your favourite people.
Of course, not every place was easy to navigate. My time in Vazzano came with its own challenges; I arrived expecting something laid-back and easy, only to find that small-town life meant you could not hide from anyone. It felt like everyone saw everything, and the smallest comment or unimpressed look could spread faster than the not-so-controlled burns these people set to their fields.
It taught me a lot about my need for space and privacy, both of which I value deeply. Still, that experience shaped my personal travel journey in a valuable, if not always comfortable, way.
Becoming Someone New One Trip at a Time
Somewhere between carrying my groceries up too many flights of Roman stairs when the elevator was down and managing days filled with work in Calabria, I learned how capable I really am. This year pushed me forward in a way that felt gradual, but steady.
I became confident in living alone abroad, handling each responsibility without second-guessing myself. I learned to structure my days so that my work was completed in focused bursts, allowing me to enjoy long weekends filled with new experiences or quiet moments with paintbrushes and sketchbooks.
One of the biggest changes was the growth of my Italian. I entered the year with conversational skills, enough to scrape by and function in daily life. By the time summer arrived, my confidence had skyrocketed. I understood more of the dialect around me, even if I never pulled it into my own speech.
Most importantly, I found myself able to speak more comfortably, more naturally, and with less hesitation. Weekly lessons kept me motivated, and I felt proud whenever I realized how much progress I had made.
In terms of self-expression, something in me opened up during this stretch of travel. I became far more honest about how I feel. I said what needed to be said, without dancing around it. Whether this is a good thing or something that may require a touch of finesse is up for debate, but for now, it feels freeing.
I leaned into slow travel this year, allowing myself to absorb a place rather than hop from spot to spot without breathing room. This created a more profound sense of connection to Rome, to Calabria, and even to the Icelandic landscapes I had experienced only briefly.
There were cultural discoveries woven throughout the year, too. Medieval fairs in southern Italy swept me into a world of drummers, costumes, and candlelit streets. The feast of Saints Peter and Paul in Rome filled the night sky with fireworks that lit up Castel Sant’Angelo in a way that felt almost cinematic.
I wandered into a free outdoor opera in a piazza one warm evening, mesmerized by Il Barbiere di Siviglia as the music wafted through the air, drawing in locals and travellers alike.
Cooking every day became a meditative ritual, too. As a vegetarian, I experimented constantly, finding comfort in sweet peppers, hot peppers, panna, and more pasta than any one person should reasonably consume.
I also learned how to drive stick, thanks to Vittoria, who bravely trusted me behind the wheel. My confidence grew with every attempt, even if the car jolted forward a few too many times (and stalled a couple of time, too).
Each of these moments contributed to my growth in a small but meaningful way. If I look back on them collectively, they form a mosaic of travel lessons learned that will guide how I move through the world in the future.
The Best Parts, the Hard Parts, and Every Emotion Between
Travel is beautiful, but it can also be a teacher.
This year reminded me that I cannot control everything, no matter how much I plan. Sometimes the best choice is to let go of expectations. Other times, the right move is to change directions entirely. When summer came to a close, I found myself longing for a sense of home, whether it was going back to Rome or extending my visit back to Toronto by a few weeks.
The pull toward the city was constant, and there were days when I felt restless and ready to return far sooner than planned. I also had moments of uncertainty, where home felt far away and the weight of constant change felt heavier than usual.
These experiences taught me how to listen to myself. If I needed quiet time, I took it. If I wanted to go out and explore, I did. If I felt overwhelmed, I acknowledged it. These are the parts of travel that rarely make it into the glossy highlight reels. They matter, though, because they teach you how to build resilience and trust your instincts throughout it all.
My routines kept me grounded, and balancing a new job with my creative work meant long days were followed by slower weekends, a rhythm that worked beautifully for me. I also learned that I do not need nearly as much as I think I do when packing. After too many overstuffed suitcases, it finally clicked that simple packing equals simple living.
All in All
This year shaped what I want from my future in a way that feels incredibly clear. I return to Rome in January, and I can already feel the excitement building. There is so much left for me to explore there, both in the city and beyond.
I have Lisbon lined up for February, followed by Tuscany and Paris in March. Toronto and Niagara are calling again in May, and Istanbul is waiting for me in June. It will be a year filled with movement and new experiences, and I already know that it will challenge me, teach me, and change me even more.
If I had to capture the essence of this past year in one sentence, it would be this: it was the year of truly meeting Emily for the first time. Not the version shaped by expectations or familiarity, but the version shaped by movement, independence, and the kind of deep joy that comes from carving out a life that feels right.
Travel does this. It reveals you to yourself. It opens the door for new versions of who you can be.
Whether your next trip takes you across Europe or somewhere entirely different, let it be a gift you give yourself. Let it teach you something new, even if that lesson comes wrapped in a chaotic plane connection or a moment of unexpected clarity on a quiet walk.
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