I was once told that we must take adventures to know where we truly belong, meaning that we have to search to find the perfect place for ourselves. I do not necessarily agree or disagree with this statement. You see, I would like to believe that I have many adventures of my own, and that I have taken many adventures of my own, and that the way I look at the world has grown and changed because of them. That these adventures have taught me a lot about myself and how I feel I fit in this world. This being said, through all of my adventures and journeys I have never felt a strong connection to a place. I have never found that exact city state or town in which I feel I truly belong. But being 17 and still learning who I am, I’m going to assume this is relatively normal. Yet these experiences have made me find where I belong at this point in my life. It’s just that my place isn’t a place. Let me explain. My place is the journey: it is exploration discovery and freedom. I find my place in the fantastic tales of a pair of old timers, in the unbelievable organization of an eccentric shop keeper, in the subtle notes of a sleepy coffee shop’s home brew. I begin to find my place little by little each time our tire blows out, each time I strike up an awkward conversation with a stranger, each time I stare down the road and wonder where I will end up next. Because every day I end up somewhere new experience something new or learn something new. Because sometimes a place doesn’t have to be a place. Because no matter how cheesy it sounds the journey is more valuable than the destination, And in my opinion sometimes that destination gets in the way of the adventure anyways.