Twenty twenty-five. It was a good year. I’ve been writing this blog in my head for six months. But true to my character, I am piecing words together on New Year’s Eve.

My travels hold a special place in my heart and this past year was no exception. Mid-March found me in sunny Florida in a sophisticated, European-inspired coastal community with a couple high school friends. True friendships are never defined by the frequency in which you get together. There is some unseen, but palpable, connection that keeps you relevant to each other. Life paths gave us demographic and status differences, but hours of relaxing, conversing and reminiscing dimmed that reality, making it irrelevant.

In May, Dan and I made our way to Iceland. A mother-and-son trip destined to be a lifelong treasured memory. This trip was as mentally enlightening as it was visually beautiful. Iceland possesses a distinctively different landscape. We seemingly stepped into a story book for two days shy of a week.

We landed in Reykjavik only to discover the gentleman that sat in the seat to my left for the overnight flight lives in a neighboring town about 45 minutes from mine. The silence that filled the space for the prior six hours ended with small talk about bucket lists as we patiently waited to exit the aircraft. We began our flight in Detroit, so I guess it wasn’t terribly unusual to connect with another Michigander. Considering events that occurred later in the trip, I came home with an overwhelming realization of what a small world it truly is.

Dan’s smile, well-documented in the photos that I often peruse, says more than mere words could ever say. Typically very guarded with expressions, he came to life in the Land of Fire and Ice. We witnessed geysers, breathtaking waterfalls, geothermal hot springs, as well as lava tunnels and caves. Museums filled our minds with experiences and information. Dan loves and thrives on education, his brain absorbing each detail like a sponge. The plentiful daylight was an added bonus, being that it was the time of year when the night sky doesn’t get much darker than what we experience at the brink of dusk. We walked the rocks at the nearby harbor until well into the midnight hour and enjoyed the shore walk and mountainous views.

Icelandic cuisine wasn’t appealing to either of us. We opted for burgers and pizzas for most meals, highlighting the fact that you can’t take the American diet out of us. The brightly colored homes and businesses even appealed to my typical preference for neutral aesthetics. The attractive, well-maintained streets were pedestrian friendly and we looked forward to tracking our number of taken steps each day. I might mention we packed for anticipated cool, rainy weather and were greeted each day with upper 60’s, lower 70’s and abundant sunshine.

One evening we strolled into a local shop. The vibe was mystical. A young boy, ten or twelve at most, appeared carefully observing Dan as he paced around the shop. The boy was holding a bowl of rocks and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him whispering to his mom, the shopkeeper. She smiled and nodded at him, and he approached Dan offering him a rock. The interaction felt surreal. I felt the woman studying us as we browsed. We exited and the woman with long straight hair and hippie attire tapped me on the shoulder and said “you have a very special son.” I had chills and a lump in my throat as we headed back to the hotel. I will remember the feeling of that interaction for the rest of my life.

Another serendipitous encounter developed from our day trip bus excursion. It started during a conversation with a pair of men that were seated across the aisle. While comparing agendas and sights/activities we had already taken in, Dan retrieves the photo library on his iphone, proudly sharing pics of his prided fossil collection. Turns out, “Ken” is a teacher in Michigan. Houghton Lake, to be specific. What are the odds that we would connect with a neighbor, of sorts, in a foreign land? Casual chatter ensued, and I mentioned our excursion in the next day or two would be to the Blue Lagoon spa. Having already visited, Ken gave the place a high recommendation.

We arrived at the spa on the chosen day and Dan was taken aback by the locker room requirements. Afraid to lose his phone, he placed it in my backpack, the one where my phone was located, notifications silenced, because I was in Iceland, who was gonna call me? We leisurely soaked in the geothermal seawater, soaking in the algae, silica and and minerals. When it was time to depart, we went our separate ways to our respective locker rooms and I told Dan to meet me in the lobby area near the spa, not realizing you could not re-enter that area once you changed into street clothes. Unbeknownst to me, Dan was unable to find me, or his shoes, or the locker he had secured. He reportedly sort of “freaked out” and panicked. With what I would describe as divine intervention, “Ken” appeared. With an impromptu trip to the spa, Ken recognized Dan from the day or two prior and came to his aid without hesitation. Dan gave him my cell number and they tried to call me, but as mentioned, my phone was silenced. As minutes passed, I realized Dan was nowhere to be found. Finally, I spotted a flustered Dan and empathetic Ken. Ken had noticed the situation in the locker room and the fact that no one else seemed to know how to react or intervene, so he did. He calmly assisted Dan in trying to locate his locker, his shoes, and me. Back at the hotel and filled with gratitude, I remembered I now had Ken’s number, since he tried to contact me. I shot him a quick text of gratitude. He replied that though he told me he was a teacher, he never told me he was a special education teacher. He assured me that Dan’s traits are his “comfort zone.” The human spirit is amazing. I hope in your future travels, and mine, that a “Ken” shows up when you need him. That trip will forever be a highlight of my life for so many reasons.

Anyone that knows me knows that my mom is pretty special to me. We joke that our roles have reversed and I am now her mother. That said, I wanted to make sure she lived out a lifelong dream of returning to her roots in Norfolk, Virginia. Redgate Avenue has come up in conversation more times than I can count over the course of my life. Having had a tumultuous upbringing in the 1940’s and ’50’s, she hasn’t been able to revisit Redgate Avenue since the short time she lived there in the early 1940’s. It’s been heavy on her heart. A part of her history she has long since wanted to revisit. With long-deceased parents and no paper trail of the address of the rental property, all she had to go on were memories that were over eighty years old. On a mission, we boarded a flight to Norfolk and rented a car bound for Redgate Ave. With no street number known, we wandered up and down the street that was laden with historical homes. We looked for any clues that might trigger mom’s memory. A lot has changed in eight decades. After three hours of walking up and down numerous blocks, we left none-the-wiser. But our hearts were full. We met a new friend, Nicki, whom we met while she was sitting on the steps outside a Jewish Synagogue. Intrigued with our intentions, she divulged that she, like my mom, had been adopted and had done lengthy studies to learn her past. We exchanged numbers and continue to keep in touch.

We carried on with our day, driving to the home she remembers as her “grandmomma’s” house. She recalled vivid childhood memories as we moseyed around the exterior of the seemingly uninhabited house. A gentle rainfall was upon us, but we proceeded to the next stop, “Ocean View Beach.” Mom remembered there being an amusement park there, but it was torn down in the late eighties, only to be devoured by land developers. We arrived and the gentle rain was joined by strong winds, thunder and lighting. Always terrified of storms, mom chose to wait in the car while I followed my original plan of walking down to the ocean. I was “almost” alone on the shore, except for the other brave soul that wasn’t intimidated by the storm. I never got her name. But we spoke long enough for her to want to meet my mom. She accompanied me to our rented Toyota Corolla and took great delight in chatting with my mom. She told us about her elderly mother and also spoke of her own career with herbs and natural remedies. By this time, the rain had stopped but the grey skies loomed. I hesitated to put my sandy feet in the car when I noticed there weren’t any floor mats. Our new friend, ran to her car and came back with two jugs of water and insisted on washing my feet. I swear every word of this is true. I sat sideways on the drivers seat, my feet extended out to the side of the car, as they were rinsed off by a kind stranger. To this day, I regret not having a name or number for that woman.

The next day we drove an hour or so to her sisters house in rural North Carolina. A sweet reunion with her biological sister she hadn’t seen in a number of years. Joanne and her husband, Ralph, welcomed us with open arms and we spent a couple days catching up with them and extended family. Laughter and tears. Happy tears.

A couple days later, we headed two hours further into North Carolina to see her grandson, great-granddaughters and their lovely mother. We sang along to the timeless tunes of John Prine and Bonnie Raitt as we traveled on, guided by Google Maps every mile of the way. Spending time with our family there was good for all of us. We enjoyed a day orchestrated by my great-nieces which included shopping in a quaint downtown and visiting a botanical garden.

We really packed a punch in those five short days, which were kicked off at a Neil Young concert. My mom loved the outdoor venue, aside from the overwhelming smell of “skunks.” And maybe a little disappointment since she initially thought we were going to see Neil Diamond.

Autumn arrived. Along with a few friends, I spent a long weekend in the Big Apple. Four grown women packed into one tiny Manhattan hotel room. We didn’t care, we didn’t go there to sit in a hotel. We saw the city lights stretch for miles from an observation deck. The magnitude of the city as breathtaking as it is overwhelming. We giggled liked little girls and complained of aching hips like old ladies. We took in sights like the touching 9/11 memorial and Central Park. I paid a young lady to write a poem for me, one I will cherish. I also photographed a starving artist in exchange for five bucks. He wasn’t about to let me take his picture for free. Fair enough, he was interesting and I wanted to remember him. We marveled at the sight of the Statue of Liberty as we went past on a ferry and we laughed while watching the awesome talent at the Broadway musical “Chicago.” The absolute best memory of the trip started out as the most annoying. A woman, likely intoxicated or under the influence of something powerful, dominated our hour long ride on an open-top bus which traveled through the city. We couldn’t hear the tour guide, as all we could hear was the woman yelling, “It’s Noah’s birthday!!!” referencing her young son. She continued to tell everyone within earshot and beyond that she’s Cardi B’s biggest fan. “She don’t know me, but she will!!!” Ahhhhh………maybe that’s what makes the city so great. Most people are rather uninhibited and just about anything goes. I think it’s a place where everyone fits in. An eclectic mix.

I mostly wrote this for the personal satisfaction of never forgetting some of these precious moments. But I also hope to inspire you to take the trip, get out of your comfort zone, and know that there is so much to see and experience out there. The world is big, even though it’s small.