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 …