Traveling is a simple concept on paper: never stay sedentary. No matter the destination – the other side of the world or your local CVS – there must be movement; I must explore new states of mind for the journey to resonate. It takes an internal investment. I must wander, leap, and get lost. Maybe because home, to me, is a wonderland with sparks of frenzy, I find degrees of similarity wherever I travel.

On the contrary, as the plane spits me out in Panama, aside from the perm-inducing summer humidity, everything is foreign: “¿Qué tal gringa?” I am immediately intrigued by murmurs from a native tongue. Two figures approach and introduce themselves as “Global Workers.” Their goal is to “Travel with Purpose.” My body instantly breaks out in sweat and goose bumps. This is how the adventure starts, and all I have to do is continue walking forward.

The sun stuns my eyes as I step out of the yellow autobús. The first adventure coaxes me to the Panama Canal, which connects the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans by allowing boats to squeeze through two massive cement walls. Gates divide the canal into thirds, each room (or lock) intended to control the water level. Since the water on either end of the canal isn’t the same height, the levels must be adjusted. Out of nowhere, as I admire the view, I feel a pang of homesickness. Just wait, I tell myself. Adjust.

After a lunch of pork, rice, and Panamanian coleslaw, our work begins at the orphanage in the hills outside the city. There, an array of faces and colors captivate my senses. Upon closer investigation, I find a house, invisible to the public eye, filled with kids with disabilities. Yet despite their deafness, blindness, muteness, or amputations, I see our oneness. These kids have just as much passion and love to give as any, and this realization leaves an imprint that I hope will last forever.

Unlike my eyes, my stomach does not enjoy the change from smooth, curvy roads to hugging the edges of cliffs, hanging on by crumbling rocks as pebbles rain down the edge. I ask myself, Are you in or out? My answer: I’m in.

Our home for the week is an island in San Blas inhabited by the Kuna Yala tribe. I immediately realize that I could easily throw a tennis ball from one end to the other. A black smudge of islands hints at external life. I’m thrown into a new environment, forced to experience the present, unaware of what will come, and indifferent to past events. I can’t sleep or eat. Within this patch of life, I focus on the surrounding sounds: the ocean striking the sand, palm trees swaying, wind whistling, and a nagging, clicking crab that forbids relaxation.

Travel is disruptive, cleansing, and a chance to get over your fears.

Like a semi-nomadic tribe, after we’ve squeezed all we can out of the abode, we pack up and leave, just in time for me to appreciate the rhythm of the crab’s noise. As the blaring bass from a familiar pop anthem seeps through the glass windows of our autobús, luminescent faces brightened by the smiling of eyes greet our group as we venture to our home for the next week. We are transported into a traveler’s hut with ceilings lined with patterned bamboo. A hopeful energy fills the space as we stand to greet our families with hugs and kisses on cheeks. Within the multicolored houses, and underneath a thin layer of poverty, joy and happiness burst. There is an electric and purified energy that sparks a hunger for exploration.

The days fly by. We play soccer. We drink a ton of juice. We eat. We speak Spanish. Most importantly, we go to the house of Jayo and Zobeida to pluck, inhale, and examine mangoes. These are the best mangoes I’ve ever had: Those we get in New York will forever be subpar. These are so juicy that we contemplate buying property from Jayo and growing our own.

It doesn’t take a school to learn great things. Only others.

The ripples fade as I press the cold gold elevator button of my apartment building. I can’t recognize my emotions. I always love coming home, eager to again be the master in my space. As I put my key in the lock, I see myself in the mirror. But the fact that I have grown is not the only difference I notice. All the teeth of the key magically turn, and I open the door, breathing in the unique scent of home.

Along with physically traveling through time and space, I have been traveling inward. I discovered the wealth of meditation – a practice in which a problem or feeling that needs addressing is uncovered. I close my eyes and escape my world, and in return, I come back revitalized. My presence, made possible by this practice, granted me access to a breadth of culture and mystery in the sacred land of Panama. My path deviated from the beaten, broadening my capabilities and strengthening my autonomous nature. It is my dose of meditation.

Before Panama, my passion and true identity were hidden underneath a skin of nervousness that was supposed to be protecting me but, in fact, did the opposite. This journey let me watch instead of be watched.

I close my eyes and let my breath take me away. Black. All I see is black for a while – no longer remembering what light feels like up against my eyes. As I open my eyes, I see the world as if for the first time.