Growing up, change wasn’t exactly a frequent visitor in our household. Every Christmas, like clockwork, we purchased a tree — my father actually took the time to flock it within an inch of its life — decked out with blue teardrops and balls, all lit up under a dramatic blue spotlight.

That tree was a tradition — beautiful, but oh-so predictable. And vacations? Oh, we took them. One. Every year. To the same place. At the same time. Like time travel, but with slightly more sunscreen.

We rarely ventured beyond the cozy, pine-scented borders of the Pacific Northwest. Sure, it’s beautiful — but my soul was screaming for more. I had serious Destination FOMO. I wanted the Eiffel Tower and street tacos in Tulum, not just another stroll around the same scenic lake.

But here’s the twist: As an adult I was scared. I mean deeply afraid of venturing too far outside the zip code. Even driving across Washington State felt like I was tempting fate. What if the car broke down? What if we got lost? What if Sasquatch wasn’t as friendly as he looked in the documentaries?

Then came our first cruise — over 30 years ago. It was magical… ish. The idea was magical. The reality? Less so. Once we paid for the cruise, it was like, “Good luck, sailor!” No guidance, no prep, no clue what was included. We basically floated confused and underwhelmed for a week, wondering what we’d missed — besides the free ice cream machine, apparently. (Still salty.)

So I thought…I can do this better!