“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
- Lao Tzu
It’s day one of our voyage from Miami to Alaska. We haven’t posted anything for the last few weeks because we’ve been in logistics purgatory. Packing, purging, and planning have been our focus. All questions needed answers, from critical ones like who will rent our house? Who will take care of our fiddle leaf and monstera plants? And where are we going again? To the more mundane ones, like whether to bring the half-full boogie spray? Should we bring this chutney that expired last month? How many pillows should we pack?
It has been a whirlwind. Vacating our house and moving all our earthly possessions into a storage unit, all while struggling to parent our three young kids and wrap up the usual end-of-school-year mayhem.
Thankfully, our community here has stepped in big time. Grandparents, friends, and siblings have offered playdates, pickups, and sleepovers while we navigated the challenges of moving from a 2,500-square-foot house into a 200-square-foot tin on wheels. We made room for six extra-large sketchbooks, nine cameras, and seven pillows, but camping chairs and ukuleles did not make the cut.
WTF are we thinking? This has been the dominant question looming in the back of our minds as we try to knock things off a seemingly infinite task list.
The doubts creep in constantly. “No, for real,” as our dear friend’s daughter asked, “Why are you actually leaving?”
It’s a tough question.
The insecurities linger in the back of our minds, sniping at us when we least expect it. At the same time, we are walking through a field of emotional landmines—the Bluey stickers, placed haphazardly by a toddler's hands, on the dresser. The silly-looking tiny plastic rooster our kids played with for weeks, lying in the cracks of the keystone coral entranceway to the house. The loose periwinkle rhinestone that fell off our daughter's necklace, which we thought we had lost. Our son’s first sky-blue bicycle, which led to so many screams of joy, now lies lifeless, propped up next to one of our boxes in a drab, silent storage unit.
The memories flood in without permission while driving, bathing, or looking at the kids’ room, once filled with books, stuffed animals, and Lego sets, but now barren. We sob, imagining the milestones and the future experiences that we are taking away from our loved ones because we, unfortunately, can only choose one path. This is the great tragedy and romance of life.
And for the next year at least, the path we have chosen is the one we have been dreaming of for so long. We leave feeling grateful for the people in our lives. The community we’ve built and known and loved since we were kids ourselves. The closeness we feel to our people is so special that it’s hard to put into words. Leaving all this makes us feel like ingrates, and maybe we are.
However, we also have to trust our intuition and do the difficult things that help us grow into the people we aspire to become. After all, love is not a function of geography but of solidarity. Our friends and relatives strengthen us because, deep down, they see us for who we are. They want us to achieve our dreams, even though when it came time to go, they bawled their eyes out and begged us not to go.
It was overcast and stormy in Miami today, but just as we were leaving, suddenly, a beautiful ray of sunlight poured in. It felt like the opening of a portal or perhaps just typical summer weather in Miami. We’ll let you decide. A giant swallowtail butterfly and then a monarch butterfly fluttered past us in our backyard as we were doing the last bit of packing up the Airstream. Was the monarch sending a spiritual blessing from our ancestors, as many indigenous peoples in Mexico believe? Or perhaps it’s just attracted to the whole leaves of our milkweed plant, which grew back larger and fuller than ever. Again, you decide.
Finally, after months of logistical hurdles and after years of plotting and wondering about this world trip, at 13:45 on July 1, 2025, exactly 5 years to the day since we embarked on our first ever Airstream voyage, after the final long, tight, and sweaty hug, we towed our airstream out of our house in Miami. We all felt, and still feel, a bit shell-shocked.
We drove for a couple of hours, stopped by an REI in West Palm Beach to purchase a new tea kettle, and found a campsite in one of our favorite Florida spots, Jonathan Dickinson State Park. The moment we stepped outside onto a white sandy trail in this rare Florida scrub habitat, the kids spotted a cottontail rabbit and chased after it. They found a tiny snake skin, a conch shell, and a Cicada exoskeleton for our new nature box. Seeing them sprint with joy, their excitement about spotting wildlife, and then retreat into the airstream, asking for s’mores and hot chocolate, restored our spirits and made us feel sane again.
And to cap off Day 1, just as the sun was setting, we saw the endangered Florida scrub jay for the first time, when we were least expecting it. We have searched for them in this park numerous times, on many mornings, which is when the rangers say you have the best chances of spotting them. We are so grateful for this one life. And to our people back home, whom we will miss dearly, this is not goodbye. It’s see you later. We love you dearly.
Wow. What an amazing move. It will all be worth it. Can't wait to hear the stories! Sending love.
What an incredible journey you are embarking on. A dream!
On the other side of the coin, I am filled with heartache! Will miss you .