Posted by on Sep 6, 2013 in Featured, LeTravelista, Portfolio | 2 comments

My Story – How I Came to be a Travel Writer

I was eleven years old, hair draped in my face and looking at 5th grade in the rear view mirror. Elementary school was now a thing of the past. I felt so grown up as I stared out the window knowing I had the whole world in front of me. At least that’s what it looked like to me as I pulled away from my home with my grandparents and fifth wheel in tow. We were heading across country, and my world was about to change.

My grandmother was preparing me to be the writer I am today. Neither she nor I knew it at the time, but she was introducing me to both my love for travel and writing. A love that over the years has become my passion.

Until that summer, I had never left the West Coast. I never knew there were places so different from that which I was familiar. People speak differently? Bugs’ butts light up? There aren’t mountains everywhere? Really, I had no clue.

The differences bewildered me; however, it was the beauty that captured my thoughts. I am sure that when a Kansas farmer sees a bale of hay rolled up he just sees a bale of hay. But to me, they weren’t the rectangular bales I was used to. They were enormous circles of hay that I saw as we drove down the road. Circles that I imagined ranchers rolling across the fields to feed their horses. Horses with flowing manes that would gallop up so grateful for the massive amount of food rolled out before them. It was these moments that opened my imagination. Moments that unbeknownst to me marked the beginning of my love to travel.

While traveling was definitely the focus that summer, it wasn’t just the traveling experiences which made such a profound difference in my life. It was the annoying nightly ritual I took part in that truly made the difference: the journaling.

My grandma, who is now 91 and whom I admire more than anyone else, bought me a journal in which to write all of my daily fun. It wasn’t a suggested activity, it was required. And it wasn’t a diary which I was allowed to vent in. It was a detailed log of my day. My grandma wanted me to be able to look back and clearly remember everything I did that summer.

So every evening I would sit and write. Write about my day and all that I saw. Much like I do today. In fact, as I sit here now and look back in the rear view mirror, I see myself not as the annoyed eleven-year-old I was but as the child who was learning to write with passion. Today I am so grateful to my grandma as she opened my eyes to a world I didn’t even know existed.

Today, I travel and I write. I tell my stories and share the love I have for it all.

Thank you Grandma!

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2 Comments

  1. 9-7-2013

    Yes indeed, thank you Grandma! Thanks for sharing Carrie. You write beautifully. Thanks for seeing the beauty and then sharing the beauty with others who cannot see the places and things you see. Love and miss you!!

  2. 2-3-2016

    It’s more just a nice European city with good restaurants and bars, just a good spot to be.

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