Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros sing it best: Home is wherever I’m with you.

I struggle greatly with travel anxiety. As much as I love to go to new places and experience new things, I have a hard time doing it on my own. It’s less about extroversion and more about chronic conditions that can get weird in a heartbeat. (Diabetes, I am TOTALLY talking about you, you punk.) I play a game called “worse case scenario” that sometimes helps me, but when I go alone, the anxiety is there. My brain is constantly trying to figure out how to keep my body safe and I end up being on high alert for hours on end, if not the entire trip. Not my fave.

Last week I had the enormous privilege of traveling, much like a turtle, with my home with me. Though we lacked the creature comforts of our own beds and pillows—Jeremy’s biggest problem—and our own bedroom doors that shut–Liv’s biggest problem–all of us expressed pure joy that we were **together**. Team Tredway. There’s an unexpected tidiness of this only-child situation where we can easily share one room together, we can easily sit by each other on plane rides, and we can share in adventures now that Livia is older. It is tremendously sweet. We were not without the very human struggles that families have, but we were highly aware of the fun of an adventure together.

At some point I realized the intense lack of anxiety I was experiencing with my family with me. And what. a. relief. Airplanes and airports became more fun. Plane delays were no big deal, and schedule changes were met with flexible spirits. I had no parental guilt of leaving a kid behind because she was with me! And bonus, I had my BFF-husband the entire time. As I write this I recognize how often I travel without them, too. And that can be a good thing as well.