The days out of Whidbey Island were mellow and just what I needed. I had time to write, edit photos, get a yoga session in, and knock out an oil change. I even made the Andrews and Alicia feel like Make-A-Wish kids themselves when I ran a guided climbing session to repay their efforts from the day before. That week, I was surrounded by so many good, quality people—and it was everything I had hoped for on this trip.

But to really understand why that meant so much, you have to understand where I was coming from.

After getting out of the military, I had felt incredibly alone. In the years leading up to this transition, I was stationed in Yuma, fighting a battle that not many people were around to witness or relate to. With that kind of isolation, I found myself wanting to reconnect with people who had been part of the chapters in my life where I felt most “whole.” Solo traveling isn’t the easiest way to do that—but sometimes, those small pockets of reconnection are exactly the feedback you need.

That desire to reconnect is what set the tone for this trip. And it actually started before I was fully solo—traveling this past summer with my brother, Braden. We’ve been there for each other during some of our best and worst chapters. He’s my best friend. A person I’ve spent time with when I’ve felt “whole.” And while we’re not “conventional” best friends—since we’re brothers—our bond is unbreakable, formed through fights, hardship, and all the in-between.

There’s one memory I’ll always tear up thinking about. I was lying in bed in Yuma after my worst disc herniation—the one that began the unraveling of my military career. I couldn’t move. It was my day off, but it looked like every other day: stuck behind the operations desk, unable to fly, constantly in pain, and waiting on imaging that might finally validate that what I was feeling wasn’t just in my head.

That day, I couldn’t even eat. Partly because it hurt to move, partly because of what I now recognize as a full-on depressive episode. I didn’t want to talk about the mental side of what I was experiencing. But after not eating all day, I finally called my parents. A few minutes later, Braden texted me. No questions—just a message saying he was on his way. He drove three hours in the middle of the night to take care of his older brother, who was too prideful to ask for help.

I’m tearing up writing this now, like I was that night. Growing up, I had to play a hard role—not just as an older brother, but as a stand-in for the responsibilities my dad couldn’t be around for while deployed. My mom needed help raising kids mostly on her own, and I took that seriously. So letting my little brother care for me felt backwards at first. But that night showed me what real support looks like.

I’ll forever thank Braden for that drive. I’ll always remember what it felt like to let someone step up for me in a role I thought I was only supposed to play for others.

My support system showed up in full force that night. Without them, I honestly don’t know if I would’ve had the resilience to push through rehab and get to where I am now. I’ll always be grateful to my parents, too, for going into action—messaging what felt like a dozen people until they got my best friend Bailey to call me at some ridiculous East Coast hour, just to make sure I knew I wasn’t alone.

Since then, I’ve kept moving—trips with Braden, one with my buddy Jack, then Hawaii to visit my friend Chris. There were smaller ones too, and other meaningful reconnections—each one a reminder of how strong my connections are with people spread across the world. Honestly, each of them probably deserves their own write-up for the impact they’ve had on me, but I’ll try not to tangent too far from the storyline of this road trip to Prudhoe Bay.

All of this is just to say—I needed to get out and travel to reconnect. To see the people who’ve helped shape me and to make new connections along the way. These relationships are what have really made the difference in my life. They’re the reason I keep going. And Whidbey gave me a perfect week to reflect on all of that. Easily one of my favorite stops so far.

This wasn’t the blog post I had planned to write—but I’m not afraid to be vulnerable if it means someone else out there might feel a little less alone. These entries aren’t just about the trip—they’re about the reflection that’s come with it. I hope the journal-style format helps you feel like you’re not just seeing what I’m doing—but also hearing how I think through it.

That’s why writing matters to me. It creates empathy. It puts you in someone else’s shoes—and someone’s mind—in a way even the best photos or videos never could.