Maya Angelou once said, “Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”

This quote really resonates with me.  While I haven’t necessarily made any lasting friendships with those of other countries, the traveling, keen observation, and friendly small-talk that has taken place has been sufficient enough to demonstrate that we truly are all innately the same.

On the train to Venice, I was sitting across from a mother who was with her one-year-old child.

View of Italy from train

I remember not being able to take my eyes off of that precious being, as any smile she made inevitably became one that light up my face, too.  How can one not smile at a smiling baby?  However, the affection, love, and gracious attention that the mother gave her child was what touched me the most.  For, it was apparent to me that a mother’s love is the same regardless of geographical location.  While the outward demeanor of an Italian woman is different from that of an American’s, the inward sensitivities that exist are ultimately the same.  Both women have the same profound, immeasurable, and unmatched love for their children.  Although this may seem like an obvious observation, it was a heart-warming moment for me, as I am starting to miss that very same love.  Although suddenly, that specific love wasn’t so absent anymore.

Dinner in Tubingen

Dinner in Tubingen

Dinner in Tubingen

Another observance of a similar love has been one that is romantic in nature.  It seems that in every city I’ve visited, there is love expressed between couples quite outwardly.  Whether it’s straddling the loved one or french kissing for minutes on end in a popular park, their expression of love toward one another lacks shame and modesty.  While that kind of overt public display of affection is generally unacceptable in America, there is something boldlyinspiring about the sight of those young, passionate lovers caressing one another.  I do not mean to say that those are appropriate gestures for my life (because they’re not), but their affectionate audacity is ultimately a lovely proclamation of their love. Although the love I share with my loved one is more private in nature, it’s fulfilling to see that same inner passion existing in all the world.

Though the differences between my life in American and my life in Germany are endless, one thing has remained beautifully stable: we are all blessed with the same sensitivities, whether it is between a mother and her child or two lovers.