I have always been a traveller at heart. In my early 20s, I roamed the world solo, with nothing but a backpack, collecting experiences as mementos. In a way, my son was the most treasured one of all: a surprise souvenir from a magical camping trip to Naxos, Greece. From the moment I knew he was coming, I was over the moon. A few years later, I welcomed my daughter, and my little family was complete.
More than one person subtly warned me that parenthood would clip my wings and tether me to one place. I still remember a co-worker declaring, “I never want kids. I want a life of adventure.” But I was determined to find a way to have both. I didn’t believe motherhood spelled the end of adventure. For me, it was the start of sharing it.
Family travel became a priority. While working as a public high-school teacher, I picked up freelance jobs whenever I could, dedicating every extra dollar to our travel fund. It mattered deeply to me that my kids and I experienced the world beyond our hometown.
My commitment soon paid off, enabling us to hit the road and hop on flights as we seized every opportunity to explore. My children are grown up now, but it was travel that helped shape them into confident, curious young people ready to take on the world.
I’ll never forget the time we were lost in Tuscany, winding through the rolling hills in a tiny Fiat 600, with no cellphone signal or GPS to guide us. My son, then 12, sat beside me in the passenger seat, paper map in hand.
In the back seat, his three-year-old sister had only one concern: “Are we there yet?” which she repeated a million times. To make matters worse, I was desperately trying to remember how to drive stick shift. Every shaky gear change announced to the entire countryside that a straniera was in charge.
With no digital lifelines, my son stepped up. Channelling his Minecraft-honed navigation skills, he confidently plotted our route from Saturnia to Porto Santo Stefano. Against all odds, we pulled up just in time to catch the ferry, breathless yet victorious.
“The most beautiful places are always the most difficult to get to,” I told my kids, a refrain I’d repeat over the years. As the boat carried us to the postcard-perfect, tiny island of Giglio, we savoured the moment, ice cream cones in hand.
A trip to the island of Giglio, Italy, taught the family that sometimes mishaps make the best memories.
That day, my son learned that even when lost, he could find his way. And I learned that sometimes mishaps make the best memories.
As the years went by, our travels evolved from quiet moments of discovery to outdoor adventures that tested our courage. One trip took us onto the water of the Fjord-du-Saguenay in Quebec, where we followed our guide, Vague (French for “wave”). My son, a teenager at this point, paddled solo, carving his own path, while I navigated a tandem kayak with my kindergarten-aged daughter in tow. I joked about the absurd possibility of being swallowed whole by a beluga.
When we did encounter an entire pod of whales, we were overwhelmed by a sense of surprise and awe. As their ghostly white forms slid effortlessly through the dark water, mere metres from our kayaks, silence fell over us, broken only by the lapping of the waves and the occasional whale whistle.
Vague taught us to trust the rhythm of the paddle, to respect the strength of the water, and to embrace the stillness when nature offers up a moment too spectacular for words. We learned that sometimes, the greatest encounters aren’t planned. They find you when you least expect them, and then you simply have to stop and marvel at the magic.
Years of travel also shaped my kids into daredevils, always eager to push their limits. By age 10, my daughter was zip-lining among the treetops of Nogalito Ecopark in Mexico. At 13, my son earned his PADI Open Water Diver certification in the Bahamas. Both kids have galloped on horseback in the Rocky Mountains, descended deep into caves by the lights of their headlamps, and perhaps the most daring adventure of all, survived a road trip from Chicago to Santa Monica in a minivan steered by yours truly.
“It was travel that helped shape them into confident, curious young people,” writes Amy Bizzarri of her children.
Don’t believe the naysayers: It’s possible to lead a life filled with adventure while also raising kids, too. You don’t need endless funds or perfect timing. You just need the willingness to embrace the journeys together, as a family.
Travel taught my kids that they could handle the depths, conquer the heights and thrive outside their comfort zones. And now, seeing them take flight on their own reminds me that I didn’t just give them memories. I gave them a lifelong sense of possibility. The world is meant to be explored, and I’m grateful that they’ll carry this belief with them wherever they go.
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