Updates ended abruptly.

As if I was indefinitely floating down the Rhine. Never to be heard from again.

The truth of the matter is that I was loving traveling. I was loving tapping into the confident, independent explorer that had always been waiting just beneath the surface. I was living in the moment, often not knowing what was going to happen next. I had decided to avoid sitting in a hostel room with lousy internet and just breathe fresh adventures instead.

When I got back to London with a couple of weeks to spare before re-crossing the Atlantic, I would post and reminisce. Sit and relax with all the tea I could drink. My adventures would have ended, and life as I knew it prior to roaming would begin to come back to me. Recent events would seem like distant dreams.

If I learned anything while wandering – and I learned much – it was that the universe doesn’t care about your plans. Sometimes it has something else entirely mapped out, that you’ve been unknowingly building towards your whole life. London was not the end. It was just a new bend, a new twist to overcome.

Instead of checking into my hostel and getting to work writing and uploading three months of memories, I dropped off my bags and walked through Hyde Park. Kids played, dogs barked, and when I got back to my room, my computer was… GONE.

No one would ever see pictures of me in a vegetable patch, a black kitten sitting on my red basket full of tomatoes. Or the photos of my Australian acquaintances, swinging in the next rickety chair behind me as the bobbing lift swayed us up to the lookout point on the Isle of Capri. The top of Mount Vesuvius and the streets of Pompeii would once again be stories from high school Latin books. The hidden cliff path I hiked down in Cinque Terre and the rocky beach with smashing waves where the path ended would be for my eyes only. The artwork from the Biennale back in Venice, I would quickly forget. Milan, Turin, Napes, Genoa. And then there’s the graffiti I found in Berlin, the river and candy shops in Dussledorf, just seeing the streets of Neuss where my Dad is from, the cathedrals and new friends in Cologne, the museums and foggy streets in Amsterdam. So much was lost, and my work revolves around my computer, but my adventure was not over.

Fast forward a depressing week, a Thanksgiving spent alone, drinking a pint in a London pub, and a tube ride to a blues dance to take my mind off my missing machine. There, a handsome figure stood across the room and I asked him to dance.

Fast forward a cold night spent talking and kissing on London Bridge, goodbyes at the train station in the morning, a flight to the states, a flight back to London to see him, a visitor in my hometown, and a road-trip to our new apartment in Florida.

Fast forward a year from when my memories were stolen, and here I am, full of the warmest memories of all.

The adventure never ends.