What’s the last thing you were curious about? I’ve always been the type who couldn’t help but ask questions — the kind of kid who wandered off in grocery stores and needed to know what was at the end of every road.
That curiosity never really went away — it just got a passport.
And suddenly, my questions weren’t just about the world around me; they were about the places I hadn’t yet been — unfamiliar cities, deep canyons, hidden pueblos, and parts of myself I didn’t even know existed.
But I quickly learned that if I waited for other people to check their PTO, their points, or even their mood, I’d never go anywhere. So one day, I said yes to myself. No group chat. No shared Google doc. Just me, my curiosity, and the urge to explore.
If I hadn’t said yes to that first solo trip, I never would’ve wandered into the heart of Oaxaca, Mexico. Oaxaca didn’t just welcome me — it seduced me. The warmth of its people, the depth of its culture, the way the colors and spices and sounds tangled into something almost holy. I took a cooking class with a local woman who taught me that real flavor comes from grinding chilies on a metate with your whole soul. I wouldn’t have returned again. And again. And again.
And one year, I arrived just in time for Día de los Muertos — marigolds and candles lighting up the night, families honoring their ancestors in a way that made me tear up more than once. It was reverent, joyful, and unforgettable. And just like that, I was hooked — not only on the places I hadn’t yet seen, but on discovering pieces of myself along the way.
If I hadn’t said yes to reading Born to Run, I never would’ve found myself deep in Mexico’s Copper Canyon running a marathon alongside the legendary Rarámuri tribe. That canyon? It stretches across more than 25,000 square miles — rugged, wild, humbling terrain.
Somewhere around mile 18, I saw a Rarámuri woman struggling. Her leather sandal had snapped. Without thinking, I took off my Lululemon long sleeve and wrapped her foot so she could finish. We didn’t speak the same language, but we understood each other perfectly at that moment. If I hadn’t said yes to chasing roots, I wouldn’t have taken a 16-hour road trip through the Peruvian mountains to the tiny village where my grandmother grew up — Ayacucho.
I celebrated my birthday with five strangers and felt more seen than I ever have in a room full of people. They helped me find a hidden beach in the mountains — one my grandmother used to describe like a fairytale. It wasn’t a myth. It was magic. People always ask me if it’s scary traveling alone. Sometimes, sure. But what’s scarier? Never saying yes. Never running that race. Never standing in an old town square, feeling like time had stopped. Never discovering a culture that felt like it was meant for me.
Traveling solo doesn’t mean being alone — it means being open. The more I explore the world, the more I find pieces of myself I didn’t know were missing. Being an explorer means asking questions, tasting things I can’t pronounce, learning customs that aren’t mine, and respecting the stories behind them.
It’s not about checking off places — it’s about letting each one change you just a little. I don’t wait anymore. I book the ticket. I show up. I say yes. Because the world is vast, beautiful, chaotic, surprising, and deeply human — and it’s out there, waiting for you to show up.
People always ask me if it’s scary traveling alone. Sometimes, sure. But what’s scarier? Never saying yes.