Stop #1: Under the Neon Sky — Las Vegas to New York, the Journey Begins

The first stop on my nine-month journey across cultures and continents began somewhere unexpected: Las Vegas.

Not for the flashing lights or ringing slot machines — but because, quite simply, it was the nearest airport to my home in Yucca.

At first, the choice felt purely practical.
But even practicality, I’ve learned, can be wrapped in kindness.

A friend, Stephanie, drove me there — someone I had welcomed into my home when she and her son had nowhere else to live. What began as shelter became something mutual, something quietly sustaining for us both.

She cared for me after my major surgery, when my body was fragile and my world was small. And while I would be gone for nine months, she would care for Max, my dog, and my chickens — keeping my home alive while I travelled the world.

I can’t begin a journey like this without support.
I can accept help when it’s offered with love.
I am learning that kindness works both ways.

I checked into the Plaza Hotel, a place brimming with retro charm and echoes of old-Vegas glamour. That evening, I wandered beneath the glowing canopy of Fremont Street.

I didn’t feel like a tourist.

I felt like a quiet observer of joy.

Street musicians played their hearts out. Strangers danced as if no one was watching. Laughter floated through the air like confetti. There was a freedom here — loud, unapologetic, alive — and I breathed it in gratefully.

I can’t control who knows my story.
I can stand among people anyway.
I am allowed to take up space quietly.

No one knew my past. No one needed to. And yet all around me was proof that life moves forward — boldly, brightly, without asking permission.

After a short rest, I rose before dawn. By 4:00 a.m., I was at the airport, suitcase in hand, watching the neon lights fade as my plane lifted into the dark sky.

The thrill I felt wasn’t about travel.

It was about choice.

I can’t see the whole road ahead.
I can take the next step.
I am choosing to begin again.

As the plane climbed, I thought once more of the quiet web of care holding everything together — a friend who had driven me to the airport, a home that would be tended in my absence, a dog and a flock of chickens safe and loved.

This journey may look like independence.

But it is built on trust.

On shared care.
On kindness moving in both directions.

I can’t travel far without being held somewhere else.
I can carry gratitude with me wherever I go.
I am never truly travelling alone.

Next stop: New York City.
A new rhythm.
A new beginning.
A chance to see whether happiness, kindness, and gratitude still bloom — even in the busiest places.

The journey has officially begun.

And so has the book.