Beyond the Porchlight: The Journey Isn't Over

For more than 25 years, I have had the privilege of packing my bags, boarding buses and planes, and exploring this beautiful world with some pretty wonderful people.

We've walked cobblestone streets, stood in places where history was made, seen breathtaking views, eaten things we couldn't pronounce, gotten lost a time or two, laughed until we cried, and made friendships that traveled home with us.

Now, as that chapter of my journey is coming to a close. JUST THE BANK TRAVEL..NOT MY DAY JOB AND NO, I'M NOT RETIRING, BUT yes, it still makes me a little sad.

But if travel has taught me anything, it is this: when one journey ends, there is usually another one waiting just Beyond The Porchlight.

What Travel Has Taught Me About Money

Over the years, I've heard people say, "I wish I could travel like that."

My answer has often been some version of: You may be able to—you have to decide what matters to you and plan for it.

My mother always told me, "You get to decide your lifestyle." The older I get, the more I understand how much truth is packed into those few words.

Travel doesn't always require being wealthy. It requires planning.

Maybe your dream isn't Greece, Italy, New York City, or Washington, D.C. Maybe it's taking your grandchildren to the beach. Maybe it's an anniversary trip you've talked about for 20 years. Maybe it's visiting family across the country. Or maybe your dream has nothing to do with travel at all.

Whatever your somewhere or someday looks like, money is a tool that can help you get there.

That means making a budget that includes more than bills. It means saving intentionally. It means understanding where your money is going, preparing for emergencies, reducing debt, learning about retirement, and sometimes saying no today so you can say yes to something you really want tomorrow.

And maybe that is where my next journey begins.

After more than 40 years in banking, I've learned that financial education doesn't have to be complicated or intimidating. Sometimes it just needs to feel like two friends sitting on the front porch talking about life, money, mistakes, dreams, and what we've learned along the way.

I want to have more of those conversations.

I want to talk about budgeting and saving. About retirement and understanding the financial words people sometimes assume we already know. About planning for the life we want to live—not just paying for the life we're living today.

And yes, I still want to talk about travel.

Because a big, beautiful world lies beyond the porchlight, and managing our money wisely can give us the freedom to experience more of it.

So while one chapter of my travel story is ending, the journey is not over.

There are still stories to tell, lessons to share, dreams to plan for—and perhaps a few more places to explore.

For now, I'm simply grateful.

Grateful for every mile traveled, every passport stamp, every laugh, every lesson, and especially every friendship made along the way.

The traveling may be changing, but I'm not quite ready to come in off the porch just yet.

There's still a whole lot of travel and life waiting beyond the porchlight.

Beyond the Porchlight: When History Becomes Personal

This was my third time traveling through parts of this itinerary, but our Celebrate America 250 Tour carried a meaning unlike any trip before it.

I attended a private Christian school, and I often tease that most of my history lessons were Bible-based, with perhaps a little less time spent on our Founding Fathers. While there may be some truth to that, I have learned something important during my more than 25 years of traveling with groups: travel opens the door to the kind of history lesson no textbook can provide.

It allows us to stand where history happened. To walk the same paths. To hear the stories. And suddenly, the names, dates, and events we once memorized become real people who made courageous choices.

At Concord, I thought about how many times I had heard the phrases “the shot heard ’round the world” and “the Minutemen.” I knew the words—but standing at the Old North Bridge was different.

Our local historian described the men advancing across that bridge and told us that this was the moment they were no longer simply British colonists. They were becoming Americans.

That statement stayed with me.

Several veterans traveled with us, and as I looked around at their faces, I could only imagine what was going through their minds. They understood sacrifice and service in a way many of us never fully can. In that moment, the distance between 1776 and today seemed to disappear.

History had come to life.

Our journey then took us to New York City, where another lesson was waiting.

When we first met our local guide, several of us quietly made assumptions based on his appearance. We thought he might be someone experiencing homelessness. Instead, he turned out to be our guide—and one of the finest storytellers I have ever had the privilege of hearing.

It was a humbling reminder that we truly cannot judge a book by its cover.

As he led us through the 9/11 Memorial, he shared personal stories of ordinary people who became heroes—young men who helped save the lives of others, some at the cost of their own. He explained that the swamp white oak trees surrounding the memorial were chosen because they are native to the regions of all three 9/11 crash sites: New York City, Arlington, Virginia, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Those trees had been in our pictures all along, but now we knew the story behind them.

Suddenly, they were no longer simply part of the landscape. Each one seemed to carry a face, a family, and a life cut short. What had been a beautiful visual became something sacred. There were tears in our eyes as we stood there and allowed the weight of those stories to settle into our hearts.

Experiences like that followed us through Pennsylvania and into Washington, D.C.

At the Lincoln Memorial, these words from the Gettysburg Address stood out to me:

“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.”

Those words were written about another time and another sacrifice, but they seemed to speak directly to our journey.

We may forget dates. We may forget details. We may even forget some of the words spoken by our guides. But we will not forget how it felt to stand at Concord’s Old North Bridge, to walk through the 9/11 Memorial, to remember the passengers and crew of Flight 93 in Pennsylvania, or to honor those resting at Arlington National Cemetery.

We will remember what they did.

This trip reminded me once again why travel matters. It takes us beyond what is familiar and comfortable. It challenges our assumptions, changes our perspective and teaches us to see people—and history—with new eyes.

Sometimes we must step beyond the porchlight to understand just how much courage, sacrifice and faith were required to build the life we so easily take for granted.

For 250 years, men and women have stood in the face of fear, uncertainty and unimaginable loss to defend this place we call America. From the farmers who crossed a bridge at Concord to the passengers aboard Flight 93 who fought back on September 11, ordinary people have made extraordinary choices because they believed this country—and the lives of others—were worth protecting.

I returned home with a grateful heart, a deeper appreciation for the sacrifices woven into our nation’s story, and a renewed pride in being an American.

But as meaningful as the destinations have been during my many years of travel, the greatest gift has always been the people. Travelers may leave home as acquaintances, but somewhere along the road—through shared meals, laughter, tears, and unforgettable experiences—they become genuine friends.

Long after the suitcases are unpacked and the photographs begin to fade, those friendships remain.

That is the beauty of traveling beyond the porchlight.

You may leave home expecting to see the world, only to discover that the journey has changed the way you see everything.