Have you ever felt a strong urge to pack your bags and explore the world? That’s how I feel every single day.

My love for travel started early—before I could even walk, to be honest. In the summer of 1958, when I was just six months old, my parents took me on our first camping trip. Back then, camping was far from glamorous. No electricity. No running water. Just a hand-pump well, rustic latrines (with unforgettable smells), and a whole lot of family time under the stars.

That early exposure to adventure laid the groundwork for a life shaped by curiosity and wanderlust.

One of the most memorable experiences from my childhood was visiting the Pittsburgh Airport with my dad. It was a cheap and thrilling adventure for a curious 6- or 7-year-old. We’d go up to the observation deck where I could watch planes come and go. I’d peer through the tiny cabin windows, imagining where the passengers were headed and what kind of exciting adventures awaited them.

The roaring engines, the smell of jet fuel—it got into my blood. I was hooked.

As a teenager, my ideal Friday night involved grabbing a pizza and heading out to the end of the runway with my high school sweetheart. We’d lie on the hood of the car or in the grass and watch planes land so close it felt like we could reach out and touch them. The whole experience filled me with a sense of wonder—and a burning desire to be on one of those planes myself.

It wasn’t long after high school that I found myself enrolling in travel school and landing my first job in the industry. For 15 amazing years, I lived and breathed travel. Back then, airlines would beg agents to go on “fam trips”—familiarization trips—to promote destinations. I visited the Virgin Islands, Grand Cayman, Aruba, and many other postcard-perfect places I’d once only seen in brochures.

I was doing exactly what I was meant to do.

But as it often does, life had other plans. I got married to someone who didn’t share my passion for travel. I had two wonderful sons and shifted focus to provide a stable home. While I still managed to squeeze in trips, it wasn’t the same. I wanted to show my sons the world—but those pesky household bills always seemed to come first.

Then came the internet, and the travel industry began to shift. People could suddenly book flights and hotels from home, and everything changed. And then came that terrible day in September 2001,                                                                            when the world—and travel—stood still.

I had to leave the industry to support my family. But the love for travel? It never left me.

Now, as I watch the sunset slowly inch across my horizon and others begin to talk about retirement, I feel something different. I feel ready. Not to stop—but to start again. To go back to what makes me feel alive.

So, at 65, I started a travel agency and launched this public journey into the next great adventure of my life.

Why? Because I believe it’s never too late to reignite a passion. I want to encourage others like me—especially other mature women—who dream of seeing the world. You don’t need permission. You don’t need a travel buddy (though they’re nice). And if your current friends don’t want to travel, it’s time to make new ones.