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Kent has me all up in my feels, and I am still trying to fully explain why.

Every leg of this journey has taught us something different. The Peak District eased us in gently, far from the noise of American life, and gave us the breathing room we did not know we needed. The Lake District showed us how to fall in love with natural beauty and taught us that the small towns along the way are often better than the destination itself. London hit us like a freight train in the best possible way and left us both certain that someday, somehow, we have to make that work. And Somerset, which we visited twice, is where our hearts started dancing with real possibility. Where the life we had been imagining actually started to take shape.

So by the time Kent came around, the bar was already high.

We spent three weeks in Gravesend on our first visit, and it was nice. But I want to be straight with you: it felt more like the patio of England than the Garden of England. I was not moved the way I had been elsewhere. We did Rochester and Leeds Castle, popped into London, and left feeling like we had only seen the cover of the book without ever opening it. Something was missing, and I knew it.

Then we went to Spain for two months, and the distance gave me time to think. We made lists. We talked through what we actually wanted to experience when we came back. It came down to five places: Bristol, Manchester, Brighton, Newcastle, and Margate. We asked our followers, Bristol was the clear winner, and honestly if the right situation had come up in Brighton we might have ended up there. But something about Margate kept pulling at us. There were fewer voices speaking up for Kent, but they were loud, and the words they used kept repeating: charm, community, art, kid friendly, welcoming, beach vibes. Heading into spring, that sounded exactly right.

So we pulled the trigger.

When we first arrived, I was not sure we had made the right call. Bristol had championed diversity openly, and there is a bit more sunburn running around this part of Kent. That has never directly affected our experience here in England, but it is something we are still aware of when we land somewhere new. I made some early assessments, reminded myself to give it time, and just did my thing. I immersed myself for two weeks. And I am so glad I did.

By the halfway point I could already feel my perception shifting. I just needed a little more time to find the words for it. I think I have them now.

Kent is where we learned to appreciate the little things. Where we stopped to smell the flowers in Canterbury, gazed out across the sea from the top of Dover Castle, walked barefoot on the sand in Broadstairs, and pretended there were alligators in the moat at Hever Castle. Where we laughed at the circus in Whitstable, gawked at black swans at Chartwell, and choked up at the sunset over Margate. Kent is where we understood that these moments are not the backdrop to the bigger picture. They are the bigger picture. Each day here has been an absolute blessing.

The people have been something else entirely. We chatted with so many strangers about so many things. Yesterday, a man let us pet his dog and told us about his grandchildren while we told him about our trip. Today, a man with his arms full of shopping strolled over just to tell us about the tide, when to expect the water to cover the stairs, just to put a smile on our kids' faces. That is the spirit of Kent. Not a landmark or a postcard. Moments like those.

We are beyond lucky to have had a chance to lay in the Garden of England and roll around in it for a while. I came here not knowing quite what to look for. I am leaving knowing exactly what I found.

Zachary Lincoln
@ZachMovesAbroad

Ready to make your own move?

We don’t just talk about this life; we live it every day. Here is the "boots on the ground" toolkit we use to keep our family moving:

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Enough thinking.