Why Travel Has Helped Me with My Healing Journey

The first trip I took after my husband Al died was just two months after his passing. It was my 60th birthday, and my kids, the dogs, and I packed up the car and drove to Big Bear for the weekend. It was January, cold and snowing. But it felt good to be outdoors, doing things we had always done as a family and stepping away from our home, which was filled with memories. At that moment, I didn’t realize it, but we had begun something much bigger than a weekend getaway—we had started a journey of healing through travel.

So, we kept planning trips for every holiday and special occasion. In those first two years, we drove to Moab, Utah; Breckenridge, Colorado; Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Lake Tahoe, Reno; and, of course, several visits to our hometown, Miami and the Florida Keys. It was our way of coping, of surviving. Making new memories while doing things that reminded us of Al somehow brought comfort. Rather than simply gathering around the kitchen table—though we did that too—we chose to go out and explore whenever we had the opportunity.

At some point, travel became more than a way to survive—it became a way to redefine life after loss. I took my first solo road trip to Sedona, followed by two solo trips to California. I flew to San Francisco for my first girls’ trip with a friend after Al’s passing. My life now is divided into “before Al died” and ” after Al died,” and in the early years, it appeared that I was living large. But really, I was just figuring out how to keep moving forward.

Now, four years later, this new way of living continues. We now spend Thanksgiving in Zion and Christmas in Cabo. But beyond these family trips, I have also started traveling abroad. I went to Turkey with friends; I took a cruise through Greece and Croatia. I explored Paris and Spain on my own, walking the streets and feeling the pulse of life in these old cities. Slowly, I began to see history as a teacher, helping me understand the big picture of life and death. Travel was giving me perspective, showing me that loss is woven into the human experience and that people throughout time have grieved and continued forward.

This past year, I walked the ”Camino de Santiago Pilgrimage“ for ten days in Spain. On some of these journeys, I have taken Al’s ashes with me. On the Camino, he walked with me, step by step, and when I reached the sea in Spain, I let his ashes go. That pilgrimage deserves its own story, but I will say this—walking that path changed me. It reminded me that healing is not a destination; it is a journey.

Travel has been my teacher, my confidant, my companion in the dark. Some might wonder if it’s excessive, but I don’t know. I only know that I am doing this in a way that feels right for me. Travel fills my cup, heals my heart, and has given me a sense of freedom and independence at a time when fear and sorrow felt the heaviest. It has helped me reclaim life—not just the one I lost, but the one that still lies ahead.

With love,
Tania