One of the best things I have ever been given is not in my room. It's not in my house or my car or my office. It makes me cry just thinking about it.
When I was a few months old, my parents bought a camper, loaded me up, and took off. As my dad likes to put it, we've never looked back.
My summers were spent with my family and our dog (and a couple times even our cat) in a tiny cab-over camper pulling a trailer loaded down with four wheelers, bicycles, kayaks, and fishing poles. Mom and I would spend the week leading up to the trip making lists and stocking the camper with way too much stuff. Dad and Weston would get the trailer ready and plan our stops.
The night before was always a mix of emotions. I would be anxious to leave, excited at the prospect of new memories, and full of apprehension about being gone for so long (I have always been a homebody at heart). It would often take me hours to fall asleep, only to wake up what felt like minutes later to stumble into the truck and fall back asleep. I would stay awake just long enough to get on the highway, and then sleep again. When I woke back up, we would be well into our trip.
Often people would ask us how on Earth we managed to survive that long together in such a small space, but I couldn't imagine anything else I'd rather spend my summer doing. We survived each other because we loved spending time together. We survived the small space because we had the world to explore.
Now, I get to make new memories with Jarrod. I get to learn how to travel with him at my side, sometimes with pup and cats in tow. I get to show him the places I've been and experience new places with him.
When I was just a few months old, my parents taught me to love traveling. And I am so incredibly grateful for it.
