I was prowling a sweet little used bookstore yesterday, getting ready for another six-day stay in the hospital with my daughter, Grace, when I spotted a familiar cover: Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel. My all-time favorite travel book. Seeing it hit me like a punch to the gut — grief for the dream I’d carefully nurtured and had to put on pause.

“Vagabonding is an attitude—a friendly interest in people, places, and things that makes a person an explorer in the truest, most vivid sense of the word. Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend. It’s just an uncommon way of looking at life—a value adjustment from which action naturally follows. And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time—our only real commodity—and how we choose to use it.” Rolf Potts, Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel

Oh, how that book once made my heart swoon — the philosophy, the stories, the freedom of it all. I saw myself in those pages: a woman untethered, wandering, meeting kind strangers, and finding herself in the world’s quiet corners. I was supposed to be out there right now — not here, snacking on hospital graham crackers while Grace receives another round of chemo.

What do you do with a dream that’s on hold?

We Were Ready to Wander

Before Grace’s diagnosis, I had semi-retired from real estate. My husband, Brandon, and I had converted a Sprinter van for travel — not just weekend getaways, but real adventuring. We even sent our three beagles (Scout, Hudson, and Bruno) to obedience training so they’d be ready to come with us. We dreamed of long road trips and mountain biking trails, boondocking in the desert, and showing our dogs the ocean.

We had already taken a few epic trips — I explored Sedona, Utah, and Nevada solo; traveled to Kathmandu (a whole post for another day); and Brandon and I took Scout and Grace to the California coast. It wasn’t full-time nomadic life yet, but we were easing into it. Life felt rich and expansive.

And then everything changed.

Grace, a high school sophomore and former softball player, started experiencing severe pain. Months of ER visits and misdiagnoses eventually led to a devastating answer: cancer. Everything went on pause — our travels, our routines, and the rhythm of daily life. Now, we’re living part-time in Salt Lake City, two states from home, while Grace undergoes treatment.

Present, but Still Dreaming

Even now — especially now — the wanderlust hasn’t gone away. Maybe it’s spring. Maybe it’s Facebook memories showing old trips. Maybe it’s photos of my granddaughter, Ray, making me ache to take her on a big adventure. Maybe it’s just… being human.

I find myself daydreaming about Bali street food, the salty ocean breeze, and the jungle sounds of Costa Rica. Instead, I’m surrounded by hospital beeps, fluorescent lighting, and a rotating menu of grilled cheese and tomato soup. And yet — this pause is not nothing.

Making the Most of the Middle

I won’t pretend this detour has been easy. But I’m learning how to live in it — not just wait it out. Instead of sitting in grief for what I’m missing, I’m building something new in the meantime:

• I’m reading more than I have in years (currently juggling four books).
• I enrolled in a TEFL certification course — a tool I’ll use to teach English while traveling abroad someday.
• I’m working toward my pilot’s license — because why not?
• I’m dreaming forward while staying rooted here, in this moment, with Grace.

This isn’t the adventure I planned. But it is an adventure in learning how to stay grounded and alive when life detours wildly off-course. I’m still growing. I’m still building. I’m still dreaming.

Here’s What I’ve Learned About Dreaming While Stuck

1. Let yourself grieve. It’s okay to feel heartbroken about what you thought would be happening right now.
2. Hold space for both. I can be fully present with Grace and still dream about hiking Machu Picchu. These things aren’t mutually exclusive.
3. Take micro-steps toward your future. You might not be able to fly across the world, but you can prep for when you can — take a class, build your gear list, read deeply.
4. Get creative with presence. I’ve started treating Salt Lake City like a travel destination. I explore coffee shops. I talk to locals. I notice the details.
5. Remember: pause is not the same as stop. Your story didn’t end. It’s just a chapter. You’re still on your way.