I grew up in the quiet, sprawling countryside of Southeast Georgia, where the pine trees seemed to stretch endlessly towards the sky. My family was not wealthy; in fact, we were quite poor. Yet, despite the hardships, my parents and maternal grandmother instilled in me a deep sense of ambition and the belief that I could be more than they ever had the chance to be. They surrounded me with love and wisdom, encouraging me to find solace and strength in the world of books.
Books became my refuge and my gateway to the world beyond our small town. The library was my sanctuary, where I could lose myself in stories that transported me to distant lands and exotic cultures, all without spending a single cent. Through those pages, I traveled across continents, sailed oceans, and walked the bustling streets of cities I could only dream of visiting.
As I grew older, my desire to see these places in person intensified. I longed to experience the sights, sounds, and smells of the places I had read about. But it wasn’t just a lack of money that held me back—there was something deeper, something more insidious. Over the years, I developed a crippling anxiety disorder, one that made even the thought of leaving my house exhausting and, at times, physically debilitating.
It was Kurt, my steadfast boyfriend who would eventually become my husband, who gently nudged me out of my comfort zone. He was the one who got me on my first airplane, a feat I once thought impossible. Kurt promised to hold my hand all the way to Las Vegas, and true to his word, he did—even when I had to reach for the barf bag during a particularly turbulent moment.
Once the plane touched down, my anxiety began to ebb, replaced by a surge of excitement. I was in Las Vegas, the city of neon lights and endless possibilities, a place I had only ever seen in magazines and on television. The anticipation was overwhelming, but in the best way possible.
We decided to stay off the famous Strip, opting instead for the more historic downtown area at the Golden Nugget hotel. The hotel’s vintage charm was a perfect contrast to the glitz and glamour of the newer casinos, and it was within walking distance of several other hotels and the Fremont Street Experience—a dazzling light show that left me awestruck.
Kurt and I spent our days wandering in and out of casinos, savoring meals at eclectic restaurants, and soaking in the vibrant energy of the city. I even had a stroke of beginner’s luck, winning sixty dollars on a slot machine—though, in true Vegas fashion, the casino quickly won it back.
Since that first trip, I’ve returned to Las Vegas four more times, each visit outshining the last. With every journey, my confidence grew, and the world felt a little less intimidating.
What did I learn from my first airplane ride? If you can, travel with someone who makes you feel safe—someone who will hold your hand, both literally and figuratively, as you step out of your comfort zone and into the world.
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