When you think you’ve found your footing, life swoops in and sweeps you up like a rogue wave. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me this long to chronicle a trip that wrapped itself so tightly around my heart — because, well, life has been lifing.

It feels like yesterday — December’s breath still sharp in the air — when I slammed my laptop shut after pulling too many double shifts and nursing too many caffeine highs. I’d nearly gone mad with work, writing deadlines. Bills. Dreams, half-baked in the oven of reality. I was exhausted. A part of me knew I needed this break, but the other part, the struggling writer-meets-settling-Dallas-babe part, kept calculating the travel cost like an IRS auditor. Flights, hotels, rental cars, food — I was counting dollars, pennies, even lint, if it looked like it could pay for gas.

I almost said no.

But something — call it instinct, call it stubborn hope — whispered, go.

Am I glad I listened?

The morning of our departure was a symphony of chaos and excitement. My sisters and I, wrapped in layers against Texas’s version of winter (which was, in true dramatic fashion, on full blast that week), huddled outside, loading the car. We mounted the roof cargo carrier — that stubborn, clunky, glorious travel box — and somehow decided I was the best candidate to crawl up there and secure it.

There I was, perched atop the car, fingers numbing despite my gloves, breath misting in the pre-dawn air, as box after box was passed up to me like we were reenacting some pioneer survival tale. I’d take breaks between loading, hands trembling, and cradle a mug of hibiscus tea close to my mouth, the warm steam kissing my frozen face. My sisters teased and laughed, their breath swirling in clouds, and somewhere in the middle of that frozen chaos, my spirit lightened.

We hadn’t even left yet, but the adventure had already begun.

By 4 a.m., we were finally on the road, our little caravan cutting through the dark, quiet streets of Dallas-Fort Worth. The kids were secured in their seats, with their eight, five, and one-year-old faces softly lit by the faint glow of the dashboard lights. The radio played classic oldies that we all agreed on—songs from a time when lyrics had real meaning and every chorus felt like a campfire gathering.

Our first major stop: Colorado Springs. But not before the ritualistic fill-up at Love’s Travel Stop — a must for any serious road-tripper. Clean restrooms, endless coffee, and enough snacks to feed a small army. 10/10, highly recommend.

As daylight crept across the sky, we observed the landscape change — Dallas’s concrete streets transitioned into wide-open plains, then into majestic hills adorned in winter’s muted colors. Other road-trippers shared in our excitement: pickup trucks with mountain bikes secured to the back, RVs slowly making their way, and families waving as we passed by.

We joined the migration, a tapestry of wanderers chasing adventure.

We made our usual stops at each state line, tumbling out of the car for silly selfies—our breath freezing mid-laugh and hands raised high against the new welcome signs. Oklahoma, New Mexico, Colorado—each border felt like shedding another layer of the mundane.

Colorado Springs was all that my weary soul didn’t know it needed. The air was thinner, crisper, laced with a kind of magic only mountains can bottle. Our hotel was cozy — nothing extravagant, but warm and welcoming, with the faint smell of woodsmoke clinging to the lobby.

I hadn’t looked up anything beforehand. I assumed “Ice Castle” was likely an aquarium or some indoor exhibit. So, there I was, confidently walking up to the entrance in sneakers and a light jacket, only to be hit with the realization that this was an outdoor winter wonderland — an enchanting kingdom made entirely of ice and snow. Towers, archways, thrones, and slides all shimmered under the night sky, as if they had been pulled straight from a fairytale.

We explored maze-like tunnels, squeezed through frozen archways, posed under giant icicles that looked like they could impale an unsuspecting tourist if they so much as breathed wrong. We slid down ice slides like gleeful children, our laughter ricocheting off the walls. The kids’ faces glowed, the cold forgotten in the magic of it all.

Man, it was fun!

And the food. Oh, the food.

Rodizio heaven.

Brazilian steakhouses where meat kept coming until you cried uncle — or in this case, flipped your card from green to red. Every few minutes, a different server would swagger over, skewers of sizzling beef, lamb, or chicken in hand, slicing steaming cuts straight onto our plates. One server even performed a little knife dance at our table, spinning the blade theatrically before landing a perfect cut. The kids were delighted; the adults were hypnotized by the meat coma rapidly descending upon us.

I remember leaning back, stomach stretched taut, whispering, If I see another piece of meat, I might die.

We rolled out of there—bellies full, hearts even fuller.

But the road still called.

We pushed on, aiming for Salt Lake City — but not before a detour that felt more like a dream than reality:
The North Pole Experience.

We drove 20,000 feet above ground, winding along narrow, mist-draped mountain roads, the world falling away below us in endless valleys and peaks. The higher we climbed, the lighter my head became — part fear, part awe. I pressed my forehead against the cold window, eyes wide, heart thundering. So this is what the world looks like from the heavens.
It was terrifying.
It was magnificent.
It was something I will carry with me forever.

Salt Lake City welcomed us with its pristine streets and snow-dusted buildings. We tackled an escape room (and barely made it out — don’t ask), wandered wide-eyed through the Science Museum with its interactive exhibits and larger-than-life dinosaurs, and dined out under strings of fairy lights that made the nights feel stitched together with magic.

And just when I thought the trip couldn’t get better, Phoenix, Arizona gifted us its warmth — both literal and emotional.

There, my sister and her husband shared news that turned our whole trip golden: news so beautiful, so life-affirming, that we laughed, we cried, we toasted to the new year wrapped in hope and gratitude.

We had begun the trip as travelers, but we ended it as something richer — as dreamers again, as believers in the crazy, beautiful magic of life.

And this trip?
This trip will hum inside me forever.

Thank you for reading and sharing this journey with me.

Until next time,

_Timi