A Traveler’s Dilemma: Sharing Beauty in a World on Fire

Reconciling Privilege: Writing My Way Through

When I began writing this blog, it was on the advice of my therapist. At the time, I was drowning in grief and struggling to find meaning. She encouraged me to focus on beauty, to document the moments of joy I encountered, no matter how fleeting, as a way to remind myself that life still had something to offer. What started as a lifeline has grown into something much larger—a way to connect not only with myself but with the world around me.

Yet lately, I’ve found myself questioning whether I should even share these stories. Does posting about sunsets and far-off places feel tone-deaf in a world so visibly hurting? Is sharing my joy unintentionally dismissing the struggles of others? These are questions I’ve wrestled with, not just in my writing but in how I navigate the privilege of my life.

My therapist reminded me of something crucial: writing doesn’t just document joy—it creates space for it, even in the darkest times. It’s not about ignoring the pain of the world but about finding and sharing the moments that make it bearable. These stories of beauty, kindness, and connection are not about bragging; they are acts of resistance against despair. They remind me—and maybe others—that there’s still light to be found.

And light, for me, has often come from the people I’ve connected with around the globe. Since returning to the U.S., I’ve been overwhelmed by the love and support I’ve received from friends abroad. They’ve sent messages of encouragement, shared ways to organize and act, and reminded me that we not alone in this struggle. Their words have felt like lifelines, bridging the gap between where I am and where I want to be. Knowing that people thousands of miles away care about what happens here has given me a sense of belonging I never expected.

These connections have also given me hope. Many of these friends have faced their own struggles, in systems and circumstances as broken as ours, and yet they’ve managed to rise above them with courage and resilience. Their stories remind me of why I started this blog in the first place—not just to document the beauty of travel but to share the humanity within it. To write is to resist—to resist the cynicism, the apathy, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatens to consume us.

The Weight of Writing in Difficult Times

Lately, I’ve found it harder to write. I sit with my thoughts, searching for inspiration, but it feels like it’s hiding beneath the weight of everything happening around me. Even when I encounter something beautiful— a vivid sunset, a kind gesture, a moment of calm— I hesitate to share it. My heart is heavy with guilt, knowing I have the ability to escape while so many I care about are left to face struggles they never chose.

This guilt doesn’t come from a lack of gratitude. I know how fortunate I am to have had the opportunity to explore the world, to find moments of peace in places where I can simply breathe. But that knowledge doesn’t make it easier to reconcile the privilege of escape with the reality others endure daily. My words feel fragile in comparison to their battles, my photographs too fleeting to capture the depth of what so many are going through.

As I navigate this tension, I’ve been thinking about how my writing and photography may shift in the months ahead. I may begin documenting injustices I see and writing about the difficult truths that need to be heard. This isn’t to add darkness to my readers’ lives but to keep the truth known, to contribute in some small way to the collective call for justice and change. I may even start a separate blog for these stories, one that allows me to explore this side of myself more deeply. Still, I want to ensure that this new direction doesn’t drown out the light and inspiration my other writings strive to offer. Both are necessary—the truth and the beauty—and I feel called to honor them both.

Yet, in those rare moments when I do find the courage to write, I remind myself why I started. Beauty, after all, is not a denial of pain—it is a counterweight. Sharing it doesn’t erase the world’s struggles but reminds us that even in the darkest times, there are things worth holding onto. Writing has always been my way of navigating life’s complexities, and maybe now, it’s more important than ever. Resistance is not futile.

Owning My Place: Trusting Myself to Lead

 Owning My Journey: The Transformation of an Expert

When I left the U.S., I didn’t know what I was walking toward, but I knew what I was leaving behind: a version of myself that often doubted her value. The past year has been a transformative journey, not only geographically but within my own identity. Developing my blog and sharing my photography has opened a door I never knew existed—the door to vulnerability. I’ve learned that through vulnerability, I’ve been able to connect authentically, not only with others but with myself.

Trusting Myself: The Journey of Becoming an Expert

Travel has always been my greatest teacher. In the past, I thought my value as a guide was in how well I could follow a script—hitting the expected landmarks, ticking boxes for others to show them the France they thought they wanted to see. But stepping away from the familiar, immersing myself in my passions, and embracing my perspective has allowed me to see travel in an entirely new light.

It’s in the trust I’ve started to see from my clients that I feel the most gratitude. A family who came to me expecting a typical city tour of Paris ended up exploring rural villages, learning how to bake treats with a local family, and sitting down for a communal farm-to-table meal with neighbors eager to share stories. A solo traveler with a list of “must-see” sights found themselves volunteering in a vineyard, dining with a family excited to share their farming traditions, and connecting with locals in ways they never expected.

These moments, where travelers go from tourists to participants, have validated my belief in the kind of travel I want to guide. It’s not about crafting the perfect itinerary; it’s about creating room for serendipity, for human connection, and for the beauty of the unexpected.

Owning My Expertise 

I used to shy away from calling myself an “expert,” fearing it sounded pretentious or self-important. But as Montaigne once wrote, “The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” Over the past decade, I’ve come to understand that owning my experiences—my failures, my growth, my unique perspective—isn’t arrogance; it’s authenticity. Like Montaigne, I see life as a journey of discovery, shaped by the wisdom we accumulate through observation, reflection, and connection.

Being an expert isn’t just about knowing a place; it’s about understanding how to bridge the gap between a traveler and the soul of a destination. It’s in crafting experiences that go beyond the surface, where tourists become participants in local life, where a meal becomes a story, and where a quiet village becomes a portal to understanding. This philosophy of immersion mirrors Montaigne’s ethos—an insistence on seeking depth, finding meaning, and embracing the messy beauty of discovery.

Recently, a traveler approached me with dreams of visiting Paris, captivated by the allure of all things French. I smiled and replied, ‘Paris is lovely, but it’s not France. I can show you Paris, and then I can show you France.

Paris is a city of undeniable beauty and complexity—a world within a world. It’s a place where languages intertwine, where French blends with Arabic, English, and countless other tongues. The city is shaped by the ebb and flow of global influences, a tapestry woven with threads of colonial history, migration, and international exchange. Parisians may not like to admit it, but much of what makes Paris so vibrant comes from far beyond France’s borders.

You’ll stand before Napoleon’s grand arches and columns while savoring flavors inspired by North Africa or the Middle East, enjoying dishes that feel quintessentially Parisian but aren’t traditionally French. In the same afternoon, you’ll wander through lush green parks nestled beside bustling train stations, a mix of serene escape and urban chaos. And when you visit the city’s famed museums, you’ll be in awe of the art and artifacts—but they often tell a broader story. Paris’s grandeur has been enriched by colonial history, with treasures and exhibits from Egypt, Baghdad, and beyond.

That’s Paris: a city of contrasts, a microcosm of the world, an international stage. It’s enchanting, but it’s only one piece of France. To truly understand the country, you have to step outside Paris and into the rolling landscapes of the terroir, where the traditions of small towns and villages speak a quieter, more intimate language. It’s there you find the heart of France—the farmers who coax life from the soil, the artisans preserving centuries-old crafts, the meals shared not in haste but in reverence for the moment.

Crafting this traveler’s journey was an invitation to explore those contrasts, to embrace Paris for her complexities while also revealing the France that lives beyond her borders. Witnessing their wonder as they discovered both sides of this beautiful country reminded me why I love sharing my authentic vision of travel—one that celebrates the full spectrum of what a place has to offer.

Moving Forward with Gratitude

The trust my clients place in me continues to humble me. Each time someone says, “We trust you,” I feel a sense of responsibility, not just to deliver an experience but to provide something deeper—an understanding of a place, its people, its culture, and the beauty that lives in its corners.

For years, the universe handed me opportunities, but I didn’t always know how to channel them. Now, I see a path forward—one rooted in authenticity, connection, and intention. I don’t just want to guide travelers to famous landmarks; I want to invite them into the quiet moments that make them stop and feel alive.

This past year has taught me to own my story, my skills, and my unique way of seeing the world. For the first time, I’m not afraid to call myself an expert—not because I know everything, but because I’m committed to learning, growing, and creating meaningful experiences. It’s not just travel—it’s transformation.

In 2025, I’m embarking on a new chapter of exploration, one that takes me to the western side of France. This journey feels like a continuation of the authentic connections I’ve built, but also a chance to expand my understanding of this diverse country. While I plan to visit a few iconic sites to appreciate their unique histories, my heart is drawn to the smaller towns and lesser-known places. Among these explorations, I’ll visit regions where my ancestors, like Michel de Montaigne, lived and thrived. Walking in their footsteps, I hope to feel the resonance of their lives and ideas, connecting my personal journey with the lineage of those who came before me. Each step into these untraveled paths feels like both an adventure and a homecoming, a reminder that the soul of travel often lies in the unlikeliest of places.

2024: The Year I Found Myself Again

2024: A Year of Becoming

As I sit here at the edge of another year, I find myself suspended between reflection and anticipation. 2024 was not just a year—it was a journey, a reckoning, and an awakening.

I traversed France, London, Switzerland, Germany, Liechtenstein, and Belgium, not just as a traveler but as someone searching for something deeper. These places were more than destinations; they were chapters in a story of self-discovery. In the Alps, I found solace in their towering presence, a reminder of how even the earth must fracture to create beauty. In Belgium, I rediscovered the power of human connection, sitting around tables with people who opened their homes and hearts to me. In France, I built a life that made me feel alive in ways I had forgotten were possible.

This was the year I let go of fears that weighed me down. Fears that told me I wasn’t enough, that my dreams were too bold, my voice too small. Trauma has a way of whispering lies that settle deep in your bones, but I learned to question it, to release it. And in doing so, I stepped into the person I’ve always been but was too afraid to show the world.

The connections I made this year are etched into my soul—moments shared over steaming cups of coffee, laughter echoing in unfamiliar kitchens, and quiet conversations that reminded me of the power of kindness. There were people who believed in me when I doubted myself, who stood by me when the ground felt shaky, and who reminded me that love is an anchor, not a cage.

It wasn’t an easy year. There were moments of deep loss, of unanswered questions that hung heavy in the air. But alongside the struggle, there were profound gains: the bravery to try new things, the resilience to push forward, and the grace to let myself stumble. The year taught me that life’s nuances—the pain, the joy, the uncertainty—are what make it so heartbreakingly beautiful.

I am endlessly grateful for those who shared in my journey: the friends who became family, the strangers who became friends, and the places that became sanctuaries. Your love, support, and belief in me breathed life back into my weary spirit. You reminded me that I belong—not just in this world but in my own skin.

2024 was the year I realized that life isn’t about finding all the answers but about embracing the questions, standing in the mystery, and moving forward anyway. It’s about gratitude for the sunsets I chased, the hands I held, and the moments that took my breath away. It’s about love—not just for others but for the person I’m becoming.

Traveling through life is much like traveling through landscapes. There are peaks and valleys, smooth paths and rocky trails. And as I sit here reflecting on this transformative year, one truth resonates above all: life is ephemeral, a gift to be cherished in the time we have.

On cherche des réponses réponses
Mais on pas les questions questions
Alors on fait qu’on fait ce qu’on peut du temps qu’on a
La vie est un cadeau qui est éphémère
Alors on fait des voeux sous les étoiles
On regarde là-haut pour que nos âmes s’élèvent
On fait qu’on fait c’qu’on peut du temps qu’on a
La vie est un cadeau qui est éphémère
Alors on fait ce qu’on peut, ce qu’on peut du temps qu’on a

In this fleeting life, I’ve learned to live with intention, to make wishes under the stars, and to trust that every step—no matter how uncertain—leads us closer to who we are meant to be.

Here’s to 2025—a new chapter, an unwritten page. May it be filled with more love, more growth, and more of the unexpected magic that makes this journey so worth it.