There’s a special kind of magic in having a trip on the calendar. The act of looking forward is its own kind of restoration—especially as the departure date gets closer.

Right now, I’m counting down to a trip to London with my daughter. Just the two of us, an adventure we’ve been dreaming about, planning in pieces between homework and dinner. And as much as I know the trip itself will be incredible, what’s been surprising is how good it feels right now, in the final days before we go.

I catch myself researching last-minute details, daydreaming about bookshops and cozy cafes, or imagining her face when we walk into the Harry Potter studio tour. It gives me a lift on otherwise heavy days. It gives us something shared, a bright spot we can talk about when the week feels endless.

In the middle of work, parenting, logistics, and very little downtime, this kind of forward-looking joy feels like a rebellion. Like claiming space for something beautiful and personal and not at all practical. And that’s what makes it so essential.

Travel, for me, isn’t just about escape. It’s about possibility. About remembering that there’s more to life than the day-to-day grind. About reconnecting with wonder, and seeing the world—and myself—a little differently.

The trip itself will be amazing, no doubt. But this part—the anticipation, the giddy countdown, the joy in the waiting—is already doing its job.