My parents met on a plane.

It was the 80s. My mom was flying to Chicago for to visit a friend, and my dad was flying home after interviewing for work in New York City. She was eight years older than him. When my mom tells it, she claims she was just trying to read her magazine in peace, and he kept asking her annoying questions about living in the City. She finally gave him her business card to shut him up, saying that if he got the job, she would show him around, and thought to herself, “That will never happen.”

He got the job.
Eight months later, they were married.

There’s a freedom in the way you can talk to people you meet while traveling. You probably will never see them again. The conversation doesn’t default to, “What do you do? Where do you live?” It’s usually starts with, “Where have you been? Where are you going?” and often ends with “What are your fears? What are your dreams?”

When I was still in college, my sister Hannah (producer of Lia Has to Go Home) took a job teaching English in Suzhou, China, kicking off half a decade of her living abroad in Asia. Towards the end of it, she managed a hostel in Pai, Thailand, living out of van for a year with her boyfriend. When I would visit, I would see slices of this life, late at night at the hostel’s bar, talking to people from all over the world. There’s an intangible magic to the momentary relationships found while traveling.

It’s that magic, those people, and my parents that inspired Lia Has to Go Home.