I fell in love with travel much like you fall in love with a person – one moment of awe, one beautiful view, one cup of coffee at a time. It wasn’t until I moved from my home state of Minnesota to the Hawaiian Islands at 22 that I discovered how much I loved experiencing new places. While living on the island of Oahu, I made trips to the main Hawaiian Islands – the Big Island, Kauai, and Maui – plus trips to Seattle, Washington, Charleston, South Carolina, the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas, Nevada, and Southern California, among others. And while each trip was special, it was the general love for adventure that made the largest impact on my life.

When we decided to move to Maryland in 2021, I immediately began curating my bucket list. Over the next three years, there would be countless day trips to U.S. monuments, Smithsonian museums, charming cities, and small towns – like my favorites, Alexandria, Annapolis, and St. Michael’s. There were long weekend trips to New York City, Philadelphia, and Ocean City, plus New River Gorge and Shenandoah National Parks.

We traveled every chance we got, and, of course, as anyone with wanderlust does, I envisioned myself living in each destination. There was only one place that felt like home, though: the Smoky Mountains, and in particular, Asheville, North Carolina.

I first visited the Smoky Mountains while driving home from visiting family in Alabama for Christmas. We took our time, stopping in Chattanooga, Knoxville, and Gatlinburg. We witnessed the splendor of Ruby Falls, a true underground oasis, took a chair lift into the Smokies at Anakeesta, and drove through the National Park.

Yet it wasn’t until we were driving through the mountains from Johnson City, Tennessee, to Asheville, North Carolina, that something stirred in me. Something about the hazy foothills of the Smoky Mountains surrounding Asheville on that overcast December day piqued something in my heart; in an instant, I felt as though I was coming home, perhaps for the first time.

That love only grew stronger with each passing moment, each passing activity.

That first visit was only 24 hours, but as we strolled through the Grove Arcade, went shopping at the Kress Emporium, and enjoyed a scrumptious meal at Pack’s Tavern, I grew increasingly smitten. Head over heels in love with a city that, hours before, I had never stepped foot inside.

We enjoyed coffee and croissants in the morning at a cafe I can’t remember the name of before taking in the everyday beauty of Asheville as we drove to Carrier Park on the French Broad River – admiring the quaint houses downtown, picturing the houses we would love to see inside, and the ones we would love to get our hands on and renovate.

When I lived in Hawaii, I fell in love with the ocean and the mountains, but it wasn't until I spent time in the Smoky Mountains that I realized the mountains were more important to me.

Our final stop on the way out of Asheville was a short drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway north towards home, with a stop at the ultra-charming Folk Art Center.

We immediately started planning our return.

The next summer, we visited again, driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains, spending time in nearby Lake Lure and Chimney Rock, and venturing into Asheville for a retreat at Shoji Spa and one of the best meals I’ve ever enjoyed at Chesnut.

With scrumptious restaurants galore, abundant access to nature, a vibrant arts and music scene, and mild year-round weather, I never wanted to leave. Asheville was energetic but laid-back, eccentric but approachable, mysterious but homey.

Though I’m not sure if I will ever be able to live in Asheville, I hold such fondness for this small North Carolina city. It is the only place I have ever truly imagined living, the only place that has felt like home without actually being my home.

Have you ever fallen in love while traveling through the United States? We’d love to hear about it.