The moment we cross the threshold of home, other invisible barriers seem to disappear too.
Sometimes, the smallest coincidence is all it takes.
A similar accent.
A shared destination.
Or simply crossing paths.
For a long time, I thought it was something about travelling.
Years ago, a water bottle I dropped one too many times became the beginning of one of those encounters I’ve never forgotten.
But the truth is, it happens here too.
Among the open fields surrounding my little hometown of Heers.
I’ll find myself sitting beside a complete stranger on a bench and, an hour later, walking away carrying a piece of their life story with me.
Moments like that fill me with joy.
And more often than not, they move me deeply.
What is it about these places?
Why do conversations sometimes find more depth where we’d least expect them to?
I honestly don’t know.
Perhaps it’s because, while travelling, we shed our everyday identities a little more easily.
We’re no longer the colleague.
The parent.
The person who’s expected to have everything under control.
For a while, we’re simply…
human.
Perhaps that makes us more curious.
More present.
More open.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
Places rarely make a moment unforgettable.
People do.
Somehow, conversations on the road seem to slip beneath the surface almost effortlessly.
Time together is often limited.
Maybe that’s exactly why we waste less of it.
Why we stop circling around the edges and find ourselves moving straight towards what truly matters.
That’s where genuine connection begins.
Perfect for an introvert like me, who has never been particularly fond of small talk.
It’s almost as if life itself quietly offers us a shared starting point.
And because we already know our paths will soon separate again, we often dare to reveal a little more of ourselves, a little sooner.
It happened again during a night in the middle of nowhere in France.
Perhaps there couldn’t have been a better place to become truly now here.
You don’t expect to meet another Belgian couple there.
Let alone discover that the woman comes from the very same small town where my friend grew up.
What are the odds?
A conversation that began with smiles and coincidence soon found its way into deeper waters.
Suddenly, we were no longer talking about France or mutual acquaintances.
We were talking about a painful divorce.
About her relationship with her children.
And…
cancer.
For the third time.
The conversation became unexpectedly vulnerable.
I admired her.
Despite everything life had placed in her path, she kept choosing life.
When she told me the doctors could no longer operate or offer a cure, I heard myself answer almost instinctively:
“Not yet.”
Those two words don’t change reality.
But they leave room for hope.
And I’ve learned that as long as nothing is certain, possibility still exists.
Sit with that thought for a while…
Really ❣️
On the journey home, one thought stayed with me.
It still does.
What truly matters.
She was fighting for time.
Lately, I’ve been noticing countless little signs that remind me of my grandmother.
She used to say it so often:
“Time never comes back.”
I’ve come to see it as a quiet responsibility, also in honour of her, to cherish time for what it truly is.
By choosing carefully what I give it to.
And whom I give it to.
I’ll admit…
I’m still a work in progress.
But that encounter taught me something else as well.
Perhaps, while travelling, we don’t meet more people at all.
We simply meet them as human beings first.
Only afterwards come the labels.
A profession.
A past.
A belief.
An opinion.
Maybe that’s why conversations on the road find depth so naturally.
Because there’s nothing to prove.
Because we don’t begin with judgement.
We begin with genuine curiosity.
For a brief moment, we become disarmed.
Even of our own assumptions.
And in doing so, we become disarming too.
We listen.
We ask.
We don’t try to convince.
We try to understand.
Not to judge.
But to discover.
Perhaps that’s something we could practise more often back home.
Meeting one another first.
Forming opinions later.
Time is better spent on curiosity.
On wonder.
On connection.
On people and moments you’ll one day remember with gratitude.
And if we choose to use our voice, let it be to build bridges.
To offer hope.
To choose gentleness over the need to be right.
To remember that judgement ends a conversation…
while curiosity begins one.
Perhaps that’s the greatest gift of the encounters we have along the way.
They remind us that long before we have opinions…
Long before we have beliefs…
Long before we have titles or roles…
We are simply human.
Each carrying a story.
And perhaps that is where all genuine connection begins.
❣️
Love,
Always,
Maaike
If these words resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to share this essay with someone who might need it today. ❤️
Love in Action – Maaike
I give words to what connects & what separates us.
To moments that move us.
To what builds bridges between hearts & people.
In the hope of creating a little more love & connection.
For everyone who has ever struggled to understand someone else & themselves
❣️
Love in action 
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