The concept of places fascinates me. You hop on a plane, you drive 20 hours to end up in a place where different people walk through different grocery stores picking out their food for the week. The reality of this common thread struck me as I walked through the grocery store with my friend Brielle’s host parents who insist I call them ‘mommy’ and ‘dad.’ As we waited to check out with all the other Sunday night shoppers getting a head start of their weeks, mommy leaned over and asked me if I wanted something from the snack sized candies by the check out counter. It reminded me of the millions of times standing in an dimly lit Aldi in the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina, my own mom had asked me if I wanted a treat for the road. I couldn’t help but laugh and grab a bag of M&M’s at her suggestion.
Whenever the world seems dark and people seem cruel because of the multiplying refugee crisis worldwide or the political climate of the US, I remember—we’re all the same in some ways. Mom’s are trying to raise happy, contributing humans who will go on to do the same for their children. People are trying to put food on the table so they have the energy to go to their jobs. Common threads are beautiful.