I have a black and white framed sticker map hanging in my kitchen above a metal sign that says ‘Explore.’ I bought the map in 2019 when we spent a month traveling from Iceland to Estonia (photo is from Tallinn, Estonia). Upon arriving home from every adventure, I carefully peel off a sticker for each new country we visit.
When I got the map framed, the woman at the shop pointed to the black stickers representing Asia, Australia, and India, and said, “There’s a whole part of the world over here to visit.” I nodded, replying, “Yes, I know. I’m trying to get there.”
Two years ago, I was ready to explore. This week, a photo memory reminded me where I was, sitting at my kitchen counter with my laptop and a glass of wine, applying for visas for our family of six to spend a month in Indonesia.
Our summer 2024 trip was booked and paid for. We planned to visit Australia, scuba dive in Komodo National Park, and tour temples in Bali.
I was planning a journey to awaken my soul and see a new part of the world with my family. My husband, Brian, and I started traveling abroad together as a young couple in 1998. We never had the luxury of dropping the kids off and taking a romantic weekend in Paris alone, so we became a traveling family.
We’ve skied in Finland above the Arctic Circle, spent Christmas Eve on a bush plane chasing the Northern Lights, and scuba dived in remote Caribbean islands where airport security meant opening your suitcase.
I have a deep desire for remote travel that shows my four daughters we can have brave adventures together and do things that make us feel vividly alive.
The next step, in May 2024, was picking up my firstborn from college. I expected to see her packed and excited to return home after her freshman year.
But the momentous events we imagine rarely go as planned.
Dorm Room Doomsday
I drove to Atlanta, parked the car, and knocked on my daughter’s dorm room door. When she opened the door, my stomach dropped, and I knew we were in for a different summer than I anticipated.
I had hoped the prospect of scuba diving in Indonesia would motivate her to nourish her body while away at college, so we could take this epic trip.
She was diagnosed with anorexia at age 15. Throughout her high school years, scuba diving trips were my secret for planning our most fun family vacations.
Anorexia, with its accompanying anxiety, can be an uninvited guest stowed away in her suitcase. But when we went scuba diving, we all found peace in the sea and at the dinner table.
Back home, we met with my daughter’s therapist, who has seen her weekly since she came home from inpatient treatment in 2020. She gave us two choices: cancel our trip or check our daughter into inpatient treatment and go without her.
Still unable to process the havoc this illness was again wreaking on our family, I sat on my pink sofa, opened my laptop, and started canceling plane tickets, dive resorts, Airbnbs, and submitting travel insurance claims.
My heart was broken—for my daughter and for my family. We hadn’t spent a summer at home since 2011, not even during COVID. We always travel, so this felt like a big change.
But our daughter was very sick. That was the scary and maddening reality beyond anyone’s control. I was angry at anorexia, as one gets angry at cancer for its relentless, unexplained mysteries.
Sitting at my computer, undoing plans, and fighting to get refunds, I reminded myself to breathe. But really, I wanted to go underwater and swim for days. I needed to find peace. I needed to find myself.
I couldn’t support my daughter now, at age 19, as I had when she was 15. She would have to do this work herself to live independently. She had a team of professionals to lean on, and I trusted them. My cup was empty.
I had been a full-time stay-at-home mother for 19 years, recently having navigated both COVID and the ongoing challenges of anorexia. I love my four daughters with all my soul. But I needed a part of my soul back, just for me.
Wanderlust fills my cup and brings joy to my soul. But this time, I couldn’t drag my family halfway around the world just for me. My husband agreed to hold down the emotional and physical fort while I left for seven days—the longest time I had ever been away from my family.
The Mountains Were Calling
I found a last-minute spot for an Iyengar Yoga retreat at the Feathered Pipe Ranch with senior teacher Marla Apt from Los Angeles. Nestled in the Rocky Mountains of the Helena National Forest, the ranch is anchored by a swimming hole, making the place feel like summer camp for adults. In May, the water was so cold that after a short plunge, my skin was numb.
Every evening after yoga, I swam in the pond, alone. No other yogis joined me. Those healing waters under the rising moon awakened my emotions and helped me rediscover parts of myself I hadn’t realized were missing.
In the afternoons, I walked up a steep hill and sat by the stupa, surrounded by dozens of Tibetan prayer flags blowing in the wind. I felt a shift coming on. I was feeling free, as if the wind was lightening my load.
The last morning there, I saw a moose taking a soak in cold water. It was truly chilling out.
When I got home, I expected to hear reports of logistical difficulties, challenging evenings, and how much my 8-year-old missed me. But what I experienced was different. Everyone seemed as chill as the moose in the swimming hole.
Suddenly, traveling solo felt doable and oddly exciting. I started arranging a solo trip to India, securing my spot and hoping that dream would become a reality.
Bali was meant to be an introduction to Asia for our family. But where I really wanted to go was India.
Back to Sea Level
Summer 2024 was going to be our last month-long adventure as the Simmons Six. I was mourning the loss of family wanderlust and scuba diving in Indonesia.
To prepare for the trip, four of us got our Advanced Diver certifications in our local quarry. Our oldest daughter was already a Master Diver. My youngest wasn’t old enough to dive yet.
So far, all our diving trips had been to land-based resorts, as opposed to a liveaboard where all there is to do is eat, sleep, and scuba dive. I really wanted to go on a liveaboard but I wasn’t brave enough to sign up my family of six for a week on a small boat!
Planning long trips that balance the interests, personalities, and schedules of a family of six can be exhausting, expensive, and sometimes impossible. It was time for a change. And I needed to embrace it.
A local mom who also loves to scuba dive had been asking me to go on a liveaboard with her because her husband gets seasick (and so does mine). After one coffee meeting, my new dive buddy and I, both moms in need of worldly adventures, booked a week-long liveaboard in the Sea of Cortez.
Once my girls were all back in school, we’d fly to Cabo, Mexico, and spend seven days swimming with playful sea lions, whale sharks, pilot whales, and more. It was time for ME to be brave!
To swim with whale sharks and pilot whales, my new dive buddy and I signed up for a freediving class.
To get certified, I dove down 33 feet in one breath and passed the skills required to rescue a fellow diver. I did it in a cold, dark quarry, with an instructor from our local dive shop, where three of my daughters work. I loved putting my mind, body, and yoga training to work in a new way. I felt like a total badass that day, proving to myself that I can do hard things. All by myself!
The high I felt that day can only be compared to the high of natural childbirth, which I did four times.
Our scuba diving trip in the Sea of Cortez tested my advanced skills as I swam in the deep blue with manta rays, looking for hammerhead sharks (we didn’t find any). The ultimate reward was freediving alongside a whale shark, so close I could have touched it.
Canceling our family’s summer trip to Indonesia was heartbreaking, but it had to be done.
My oldest daughter is doing incredibly well now. I’m so proud of her. She’s living independently in her own apartment and finding her way.
My goal for family travel is to raise global citizens—confident daughters brave enough to travel the world and view this diverse planet as a kind place where everyone is different and beautiful.
Even if we don’t travel together, I can still be this example.
The Map Now
Being at the Feathered Pipe Ranch, studying with Marla, reaffirmed my long-held desire to study Iyengar Yoga in India. When I packed my bags the day after Christmas in 2024 and boarded a plane for my first international solo trip to India, I hoped I was setting a living example for my daughters to embrace big adventures and explore, even when it felt scary.
Going to India was profoundly important to me. It set my soul on fire and gave me the permission I needed to pull the stickers off the dark side of that map, even if it wasn’t a Simmons Six trip.
While I love traveling with my family, they don’t always want to travel with me. Our goals and dreams don’t have to match. We don’t have to spend summers traveling together. And that’s okay. We can go our own ways. Actually, it makes the shorter times exploring together more special.
The day after Christmas in 2025 we flew to Eastern Europe as the Simmons Six. This trip, I used a Google Form to poll my family. I asked each person how far they were willing to go, for how long, and whether they wanted to scuba dive or ski.
By doing this, I stopped being the commander of my family and became a collaborator. I realized that if I wanted them to be global citizens, I had to let them choose their own borders. And I had to be brave enough to show them I could also cross borders without them.
On January 2, after we rang in the New Year all together, I left my two college daughters at an airport hotel in Sofia, Bulgaria. They had a 6 AM flight home the next morning. Once home, they repacked and drove themselves back to college (one in Nashville and one in Atlanta). It was a bonding experience and a great adventure for them.
Brian and I, along with our two school-aged daughters, traveled on to Serbia, Bosnia, and Poland.
This summer, things are coming full circle. I’m finally heading to Komodo National Park on a ten-day liveaboard. There will be advanced diving, mandatory reef hooks, and possible seasickness. I’m going with my scuba buddy. Together we are brave mothers and fiercely adventurous, as if our lives depend on it.
Between solo travel, scuba boats, and trips with my family, I’ve now visited 48 countries. And the other side of the map is no longer a dark-looking place.
I’ve realized my job wasn’t just to show my daughters the world—it was to show them a mother who is a whole person, someone who can dive 33 feet deep on a single breath and fly across the globe solo. It’s okay for me to pull stickers off the map for places not visited by all six of us now.
As I look at that metal ‘Explore’ sign in my kitchen, I realize I’m exploring in a way I never envisioned. For the first time in twenty years, I’m not just leading family travels, I’m traveling to find myself.