There are places in this world that hold a kind of magic—places that embrace you, restore you, and remind you of who you are even in your darkest moments. Travel, in general, has the power to heal, offering new perspectives, fresh air, and the space to process grief. For me, Africa has always been that place.
I first discovered its healing power years ago when my grandmother passed away. Just three weeks after her death, I found myself on safari, surrounded by the vastness of the land and the quiet wisdom of the animals. The grief did not vanish, nor did I miss her any less, but I felt a completeness I hadn’t expected. The raw beauty of Africa held space for my sorrow, allowing it to exist without consuming me. I left feeling lighter, as if the wilderness had whispered that I was exactly where I needed to be.
In 2023, my world was shattered again when my husband Lee passed away. Losing him was an indescribable pain, but it came with another loss—stepping away from the career I had loved for 28 years to take over his company. It was a secondary grief that compounded my sorrow. Not only had I lost my husband, but I had also lost the rhythm of my life, my connection to travel, and most heartbreakingly, my ability to return to Africa—a place I knew could help me heal.
For two years, I dedicated myself to the business, pouring my energy into stabilizing what he had built. And then, at last, a shift. I found myself in a place where I could return to Travel Beyond, the career that had long been my passion. With that return came an opportunity—one I could not pass up: a chance to go back to Africa.
And so, I went—to Kenya, to the Masai Mara, where I had cheered Lee on in life, and where I honored him once more, exactly two years after he died. This was not just another trip; it was a homecoming of the soul. Africa once again reminded me that grief and beauty can coexist. As I sat by a campfire under the vast African sky, listened to the distant roar of a lion, and watched elephants move through the bush with a quiet grace, I felt that same sense of peace I had experienced years ago. The land held me in its embrace, allowing me to grieve, to heal, and to move forward without leaving my love for Lee behind.
Travel, no matter where it takes us, has the power to transform. It forces us out of the familiar, placing us in new surroundings where we see the world—and ourselves—differently. For some, healing might come from the mountains, the ocean, or the quiet solitude of a small village. For me, it has always been Africa, but the true gift is in the journey itself, wherever that may be.
Grief is not something we outrun or overcome—it becomes a part of us. But in places that speak to our souls, where life and loss exist so unapologetically side by side, we can find a way to carry that grief with peace instead of weight. As I reflect on my journey back to Africa, I know that healing is not about forgetting or moving on but about finding the space to hold both love and loss in equal measure. And sometimes, the best way to do that is to go somewhere new and let the world show you the way forward.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: don’t wait. Don’t wait for the perfect moment, the perfect itinerary, or the perfect time. Travel when you can, especially with the ones you love. The memories you create—whether big adventures or quiet moments—will never be something you regret. You will never be upset that you watched a sunrise with your child, shared a laugh over dinner with your partner or friends, or sat silently in awe of nature. Those moments become the threads that stitch us together, even after we’ve lost the ones we love. They are the stories we carry, the comfort we return to, and the legacy of love that outlives everything else.