When I first joined the Marine Corps, I didn’t have any grand ideas about travel. I’d never been out of the country — unless you count the occasional trip down to Rocky Point, Mexico as a kid. Once I completed my training, I learned that my first duty station would be in Bermuda with the Marine Corps Security Forces. A few other Marines were headed there with me, and we were all thrilled. I spent almost two years on that island — learning about the culture, making friends, even picking up scuba diving. It was technically “barracks duty,” but for me, it was an adventure. I experienced my first hurricane there, learned to slow down a bit, and discovered how much life outside the mainland had to offer. After Bermuda, I was sent to the fleet — and that’s when my real travels began.

I caught the travel bug young. My parents had an old greenish Class C motorhome, and every summer we’d hit the road across the western United States to visit family and explore places we’d never seen before. Those trips taught me the joy of motion—the rhythm of tires on asphalt and the freedom of never knowing exactly what’s around the next bend.