The real question always is...would you do it all again?

If there's anything I know, it's that I know very little. Very little of people, of the world, of myself even. I am not wise. And compared to many people, I'm really not even all that smart. And I have next to nothing of my life figured out. But I figured out in July that it would be cheapest to fly round trip to Dublin, Ireland. So I bought a ticket.

And on October 6, off I went. Alone. Ready for an adventure. Everyone asked me if I was afraid to travel alone. The answer before my trip was always no. The answer today is the same. Surrounded by complete strangers for a week and a half, wandering a strange country on my own, no. I was never afraid. And I realized while I was traveling that I have more to fear from my own proclivity to make bad decisions than from some stranger trying to harm me. I regret nothing from my travels (short though they were). This is not a tell-all. My experiences are my own. Some I will share and some I will keep.

I discovered a new kind of bond that draws people together. A bond that puts complete strangers at utter ease with one another simply because they have one thing in common: they are far from home.

People rarely accuse me of being shy. But I found a new courage in approaching the unknown as day after day I stepped onto unfamiliar streets, worked a foreign transit system, fumbled about with confusing currency and hopped from hostel to hostel meeting new people.

Dublin to Glendalough to Galway to Cork to Belfast.

I think, someday, it would be nice to create in my neck of the woods a place like Vagabonds, the last hostel I stayed at. It was like no place I've ever been before. Maybe I'm romanticizing. So be it, if I am. But the staff weren't just workers, they were a part of the atmosphere. I was alone, and for a few days they were my friends and my guides. I walked out the front door at 6:20 a.m. on October 16 and I'm sure they will all soon forget me in the sea of travelers who pass through that front door. But from the first ringing of the Fur Elise doorbell to the moment I slipped away in the pre-dawn quiet, I felt like for a few days while I was at Vagabonds in Belfast in Northern Ireland, I had someplace to belong even as a wanderer.

I'd be lying if I said part of me didn't want to stay there, at Vagabonds, or even just in Europe. Blow off the Air Force and live an utterly different life than what I would ever have expected. And I sometimes wonder if I'm not a coward for choosing the way I've chosen. I hope not. But regardless, I enjoyed meeting people from all over the world and experiencing a day or two of life with them.

Most of us have seen pictures of Ireland on the internet or in movies. It's more beautiful in person. But if I had every vista stripped from my memory and all I was left with were the people, my journey would still be more than worth it. I keep realizing more and more that my life is not defined by what job I have or what places I've seen or what things I've done. It is defined by the people I meet and love.

It's a strange feeling being home today, living my regular life, sleeping in my own bed, feeding my dog and eating cereal from my blue ceramic bowl. You'd think nothing extraordinary had just happened. But a week and a half ago I practically skipped off the airplane into the Dublin airport with a ridiculous, eager grin on my face, agog to see the greenness of everything.

After a week and half of next to no sleep and winging just about every decision, I can say one thing is for damn sure: I'd do it all again. All of it.

That's my jam.