Going, Again

Walking the streets in Madrid, Spain in May 2024

I went on my first “overnight” trip in the fourth grade. My class traveled just an hour up the road and spent a few days at a local college, where we were split into teams and competed in different games and activities. It wasn’t far, and it wasn’t anything extravagant, but I remember loving it—the change of environment, the independence, the feeling of being somewhere new.

In the sixth grade, I took my first trip out of state to St. Augustine, Florida, and that only confirmed it. I loved everything about it—the history, the exploring, the window shopping, even the long bus ride with about forty-five other sixth graders. There was something about going somewhere new that made me feel more like myself.

After that, I kept going. Over the years, I’ve traveled to Williamsburg, West Virginia; Washington, D.C. (the classic eighth grade field trip—and yes, I went back as an adult); different places throughout North Carolina, South Carolina, Florida, and Tennessee; New York City; Boston; San Diego; Park City; Alabama; and more. In 2015, I spontaneously volunteered to fill a last-minute spot on a mission trip to Haiti. I came home from that trip and left again less than five days later for the Dominican Republic. I worked summer camps, took spontaneous roadtrips, and never feared going. I’ve also had the privilege of going to Costa Rica and, most recently, spent a week in Madrid in 2024 that felt, in many ways, like a return to something I hadn’t realized I had lost.

Because somewhere along the way, I did lose it.

Growing up, I struggled with anxiety and perfectionism (still do, likely always will). Some days, just getting through school felt overwhelming. But interestingly, travel was always the place where that seemed to loosen its grip. The times I felt most like myself were often the times I said yes to a trip—sometimes with less than two weeks’ notice—and just went. I used to pray the verse, “Here I am, Lord. Send me” (Isaiah 6:8). I had maps, plans, dreams of putting pins in all the places I would go. The classic Pinterest traveler vision.

But somewhere along the way, those dreams got buried. I stopped writing. I stopped going.

COVID-19 shut down the world, but even after things opened back up, I didn’t fully return to that version of myself. I made different choices. I chased what looked impressive on paper—the goals, the achievements, the “smart” career path. I went to law school instead of doing something like the Disney College Program (still not over that, honestly, thank you COVID cancellations). I built a life that made sense, that looked good, that checked all the boxes I thought I was supposed to check.

And for a while, it worked.

From the outside, my life was good. I had a good job, a good community, a good apartment, good routines, good opportunities. Everything was good. But internally, I felt like I was sleepwalking through it—moving from one thing to the next without ever really checking in with myself. I had slowly lost touch with who I was and what I actually wanted. Constantly striving to control and curate every second so the cracks never showed.

After about six years of living like that, my body started to respond in ways I couldn’t ignore. I was exhausted, anxious, overwhelmed, and deeply disconnected. It wasn’t that anything in my life was obviously wrong—it was that something underneath it all wasn’t right.

So I left.

I quit the “good” job. I left the “good” city. I moved back in with my parents—which, if I’m being honest, felt like a pretty significant hit to my pride—and tried to figure out what came next.

And for a while, I didn’t figure it out.

I hit walls. Closed doors. Applications that went nowhere. Interviews that didn’t lead to anything. Days where I felt stuck, exhausted, anxious, and, at times, honestly a little depressed. It felt like I had taken steps backward instead of forward.

But somewhere in the middle of all of that, something started to come back.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t clear. But it was consistent.

A pull I’ve felt for most of my life—the desire to experience this world, to travel, to learn from other cultures, to meet people, to hear their stories, and to share those stories in a way that matters. A reminder that I am, ultimately, just a visitor here.

I don’t have everything figured out. I don’t think I ever will.

But I have started dreaming again. Slowly, quietly, and very cautiously. I started with an “experience” list. Just a simple list of things in this world I would love to experience. And it kept growing and growing and growing until I realized….I want to experience it all.

And this—writing, traveling, paying attention, saying yes—is part of that.

So this is me saying, not just quietly to myself, not just in whispered prayers, but out loud—

the same thing I used to pray years ago:

“Here I am, Lord.

Send me.”

bytaylormcgee