I’m on the couch. Three hundred ultra fine-tipped markers are strewn across the coffee table. With more care than the task warrants, I select my palette. Forest green, mint green, pistachio, powder blue, sapphire blue, and crimson. I choose these colors as if it’s the most important decision I’ll make this morning. It might be.
Looking out the window, I notice the colors I’ve picked mirror the colors in my view. Evergreen trees, bright blue skies, a cardinal. I start with pistachio, staying in the lines like I always do. There’s something indescribably satisfying about filling in the lines with vivid color. I think there’s a life metaphor in there somewhere, but I can’t find it.
I’m a travel blogger. But most of my days revolve around mundane chores. Food shopping, dog walks, laundry. I sprinkle in creative moments, like coloring (adult coloring!), writing, meditating, and painting. Why I don’t prioritize my creative side more often baffles me. It’s where I find my strength. It reroutes my day. It lifts my spirits. It makes me more productive.
When I started my blog, I was paralyzed with fear whenever I published an article. It was a healthy fear, I told myself. But even all these years later, I have the same fear. Is that healthy? My fear is always double-edged. It can propel my creativity or sink it like a stone.
On my Instagram feed, I post the good stuff. Dramatic coastlines, snow-covered mountains, shiny, happy people. I tilt my camera to crop out crowds. I delete photos of foggy, gray summits. If it rained nine days out of ten in St. Lucia, I’ll post pics from that one day the sun shined.
I play the game. Photos of rough seas and gloomy skies inspire exactly no one to visit the Caribbean.
My website is inspirational. Its tagline is ‘Inspiring Travel.’ Does it look like I’m on vacation nine months of the year? Does my feed convey a sense of luxury and adventure that sometimes feels unattainable? It’s designed that way. I designed it that way.
Instagram versus reality is a complex issue for travel bloggers. It’s a complex issue, in general, fraught with opinions. Why shouldn’t we share the pretty and perfect parts of our travels, of our lives? But why don’t we also own up to the unpretty and imperfect parts of our travels, of our lives?
I play the social media game and assume most people I follow do, too. I accept this as reality. I know it rains on vacation, but I don’t expect anyone to post photos to prove it.
I’m at Safeway. Stocking up on the frozen DiGiorno pepperoni pizzas my teenage son has defined as the 6th food group. This is not clean eating. I pause in the produce aisle. Withered crowns of broccoli stare up at me. What will I make for dinner tonight? Who am I kidding? My husband does most all of the cooking these days. I sometimes get to be the sous chef. I always get to be the busboy. In my defense, I was the family chef from 2002-2022. I’m okay with the demotion. Cooking, put a fork in me. I’m done.
After lunch, I labor over an Instagram reel. I hate reels. But don’t tell Meta; it will affect my algorithm. They’ve already made it nearly impossible to gain followers. It took me eight long years to (organically!) reach 10K. That’s 5,026 hours I’ll never get back. Why do I care? Did the 10K milestone make @iamlostandfound_ legit? Did it give me a sense of validation, however misguided? Ummm, kind of. As I type these words, I realize how superficial they sound.
Should I post clips of Manshausen Island… again? Does this reel feel more Noah Kahan or Dua Lipa? Should I ask my daughter for advice? No, that’s a can of worms I’ll never be able to shut. My last reel took two hours to create and tanked. Do I take a chance this one will go viral? This is not the best use of my time. I hate reels.
It was easy to take chances in my teens and 20s. Fear—that primal, protective, biochemical response, wasn’t fully formed. I thought nothing of driving 300 miles home from college through a blizzard or hailing a taxi from the Lower East Side at 2am. Back then, I laughed at fear. Well, most fear. Like not the kind of fear that sets in after a midnight showing of The Blair Witch Project. That fear was no joke.
What happened? Life happened. Kids happened. I got scared. I took less chances.
I’m at the dog park. One of my black labs is running around like it’s the first time she’s seen grass. The other is immobile, glaring at me like I’ve condemned her to purgatory. How many times have I been to this park? I channel my inner Mensa and come up with 4,200. That’s a lie. I used a calculator. 300 days a year x 14 years = 4,200. Am I embarrassed by my weak math skills? Actually, no, not really.
If I’m walking my dogs roughly 300 days a year, then I’m definitely not on vacation as often as I appear to be on Instagram. I don’t even want to be on vacation as much as I appear to be on Instagram. I like being home. My running joke is that I’m either 3,000 miles away or within one square mile of my house. I guess that’s not a joke. According to my family, I’m decidedly not funny.
All those pretty little squares create an image meant to boost my website. Gain a following. Grow a brand. Does fear sometimes set in when I post? It does, even from behind the anonymity of a generic username and a camera. No one likes to be trolled. Comments like “I’d have to sell my firstborn son to afford that hotel.” How do I respond to that? Do I respond?
I’m folding laundry. Part of me is sad my son is leaving home for three months. The other part is jumping for joy at all the found time I’ll have not turning heaps of socks, sweatpants, and underwear right side in. Or inside out. Yes, my 18-year-old is capable of doing his own laundry. I’m an enabler! Sue me.
The truth is, I find folding clothes comforting. I love the warm fabric, the artificial spring scent, and the pure coziness of clean clothes. My toasty red flannel PJs beg me to put them on. It’s nearly 7pm. I see no reason to deny them.
Laundry is a mindless activity. It’s not often I get to be mindless, so I take full advantage of it. My mind always wanders. Sometimes, I think about our last family vacation. Or, I think about planning our next family vacation. Then, I think about creating my next post, story, or reel. Never a reel. I think about my dogs.
What kind of self-described travel blogger covets laundry, picking produce, takes thousands of dog walks in the same park, and thinks a night spent coloring is a night well spent? This one does. I would never appreciate my travels if I were traveling all the time. I’m not a 20-something influencer trying to snag a free hotel room in the Maldives. Most of the year, I’m a middle-aged mom working my way through life’s big decisions.
The rest of the year, I not only get to travel, I get to inspire travel. I accomplish this through pictures and words.
What does it say about what we put out there for the world to see and read? Is it deceptive to only post the good stuff? Generally, I don’t write about places I didn’t enjoy or had a negative experience. I don’t write bad reviews. Bad reviews aren’t inspiring. Sometimes, I’ll highlight an aspect of a place that didn’t meet my expectations. But even then, I’m a soft touch. If it’s a place I wouldn’t return to, it doesn’t get a post.
I note how I feel when I see other bloggers’ feeds. The ones who visited Mongolia, Montana, and Mozambique all in the month of January. That’s not possible. Wait, is it possible? Sometimes, I feel envious. Sometimes, I don’t believe them so that I don’t feel envious. Then I remember. I’m playing the same game. I can unfollow or accept it. I accept it.
I finish coloring. The colors meld together just the way I’d hoped. I take a picture to send to my one friend who appreciates adult coloring. Not all the colors are within the lines, but that’s ok. Maybe I found the metaphor. Feeling content even when life goes outside the lines? That’s a reach. I’m overthinking it.
I’m not on a mountaintop in Nepal. I’m not on a beach in Fiji. I’m not in an airport lounge with a glass of champagne dangling from my hand. Despite what my feed implies, I’m home. Mostly.
This is where I am. Meet me here.
Introducing Jamie Edwards Travel Coaching
I get it.
Planning trips is overwhelming. Finding the time to plan is impossible.
Between researching destinations, knowing the best time of year to go, where to eat and stay, and what to see and do—it’s hard to know where to start—especially when you have a business or a household to run.
The world is big. Having been to 70 countries on 7 continents, I can help you narrow it down. This is what I do best—inspiring travel.
I’m excited to share the launch of Jamie Edwards, Travel Coaching—a three-tiered approach to help you plan your next trip.
• 45-minute intro call: I ask questions and you give answers. What are your non-negotiables? What’s your budget? What are your likes? Dislikes? Like boats? Dislike crowds? Dislike goats? Check. Check. Check.
• Deliverables: Based on your input, I’ll prepare 3-5 destination ideas, hotel recommendations, itinerary add-ons, must-see spots, hidden gems, and more. All with clickable links and resources so that you can book easily. I’ll also confirm that my recommendations are available for your travel dates.
• 30-minute follow-up call: We will review your options and see what destinations/ideas suit you best. Then, you can go ahead and start booking!
*I’ll save you hours of research and provide you with the same destinations and hotels I’d use if I were planning my own trip.*
How much is your time worth? Get my targeted, curated inspiration for $500.
Ready to start planning? First is best! My first ten clients will receive a 25% discount.
