For me, 2025 has been the year of travel.
Overseas and across the nation, I have seen more in the past six months than the past six years of my life.
However, the greatest adventures have not come from a place of destination, but from the people I met along the way.
Such a truth became evident in leaving Seville, Spain, when an English goodbye became harder than the foreign language itself. In June, I had arrived alone, and I left with the friendships of a lifetime a month later.
In July, I learned that “Our Last Summer” is a much more heartwarming tune when watching the Mamma Mia soundtrack when compared to realizing that the memories I made at Myrtle Beach would be the last. My friends there were meant to be in my life for a time, a time that had run out.
In September, the bittersweet inversed when I left Hilton Head Island and Savannah, Ga. with a heart full of connections I thought I’d never find. It was a solo drive for nine-and-a-half hours back, yet I never actually felt alone.
Still, no place will ever compare to the people who made the place perfect in October, in Wasilla, Ak.
It was the first trip of the year that did not start, nor end, alone.
To my left sat my sister and mom, cozied together with fuzzy neck pillows, cramped leg room, and exhausted smiles from the 3 a.m. drive to the airport.
Having grown to admire the independence, my hesitance only grew as our flight departures neared. All worries resolved as the plane was cleared for takeoff.
To my right was a window as we soared into the vibrant orange and purple sunrise at takeoff and through a pale blue sky, dotted by puffy clouds lining the atmosphere below. The hum of the cabin was soothing as the wing sliced through the high-altitudes, over mountains, cities, lakes, and fields below, passing beneath like a real-life road map.
My mind was calm, the only concern in the world was deciding which movie to watch and whether I wanted Biscoff cookies or pretzels for my in-flight snack.
As soon as the plane peaked above the clouds, I snapped a photo of the world below and let my eyes rest for the first time
This experience was not alone. This experience was comfortable. This experience did not require me to say goodbye.
From mountain views to their reflections on a lake, there was only something special in the sharing of our admiration and pure awe.
My mom’s best friend, Cindy, served as an intuitive local tour guide. Unapologetically herself, she’s the type of human who grows a person just from meeting her.
Not once was I alone.
Brandy, Cindy’s daughter, my sister, and myself shivered on horseback as we trail rode through rivers and glacier silt in the mountain valleys. The sun above the mountains with fog below, created a sight only to be seen in Alaska.
My sister and I slipped together on ice as we hiked to a glacier just outside of Anchorage, bundled in winter coats–and shoes meant for the East Coast.
We savored warm meals, smiled, talked, shared joy, and experienced life together in Cindy’s warm home. The night before we departed, we stayed up late eating popcorn and mozzarella sticks while watching Dirty Dancing, a movie that Cindy and my mother once saw in the theater.
Not even the locals were strangers.
In coffee shops, I met friendly locals, offering warm welcomes in the Alaskan cold, with kind greetings and only curiosity for my trek from Virginia.
On trails, local and touring hikers offered to take group photos without prompting, shared stories, and departed saying “Happy trails!” as we continued our footsteps in the snow.
In stores, young employees shared their experiences growing up in the cold and their childhood adventures in the snow.
I’ll never forget those mountains–taller than the clouds, snow-capped, and seen in every direction of the vast landscape–and I’ll always want to come back. But–it wasn’t only the views that made the place so paramount; it was the people that made it about more than just the mountains–and the memories we made.
