Finding Wanderland

My family used to call me their little Peter Pan.

I hated birthdays. I never wanted to grow up. I didn't want to get older, didn't want more responsibility, and if I'm being completely honest, I probably just didn't want anyone telling me what to do.

Looking back, I don't think I was afraid of growing up. I think I was afraid that growing up meant the adventure was over.

Two weeks ago, I boarded a train from Montreal to Quebec City for my first solo campaign back in full swing as Brittany in Wanderland.

And I was terrified.

I spend a lot of time in my own head, worrying about money, work, relationships, and everything in between. Six months ago, I was comfortably uncomfortable in a life that felt stuck in limbo. Now I'm answering emails from hotels in Quebec City and NASCAR teams. Why wouldn't I be excited about the next adventure?

But excitement and fear are funny things. Sometimes they look exactly the same.

Regardless of fear, I packed my bag, set a budget—because not everything is paid for in its entirety (yet)—and boarded my train from Montreal to Quebec City.

A year after I started this blog, I came up with a little tagline: Making mistakes so you don't have to.

I'd like to say I've outgrown that, but the truth is it's burned into my core.

I got off the train and decided to do this trip old school, with as few Ubers as possible, so I walked to my hotel. GPS said ten minutes. Easy.

Did I do my research on Quebec City? Yes.

Did I read anything about the hills? No.

My calves are still burning from that uphill journey, and it's been two weeks.

Sweating—because even though it was 50 degrees outside and I was wearing a sweater, you walk ten minutes up what felt like a 75-degree incline dragging a suitcase and tell me you wouldn't sweat—I pushed my way through the doors of Hotel Monsieur Jean.

The ceiling was painted deep blue with tiny lights built into it, making it feel like you were walking beneath a night sky all the way to the front desk. I could hear people laughing at the bar and restaurant, and I felt my nerves start to fade. Still there, but fading.

My room was gorgeous. Huge. The kind of room that makes you immediately start taking photos before you've even put your bag down.

And I'm not going to lie to you.

I cried.

I was freaking out.

The view overlooking Old Quebec was beautiful, but that little voice in my head telling me I'd made a terrible mistake was still there and annoyingly loud.

Because the truth is, this wasn't really a trip to Quebec City.

It was a test.

Six months ago, I was stuck in a life that felt comfortably uncomfortable. I knew things needed to change, but changing them felt terrifying. Now I was standing in a beautiful hotel room overlooking one of the most charming cities in North America because I had taken a chance on myself.

And suddenly that felt a lot scarier than staying put.

So I did what I do best.

I dropped my bags and went to find a drink.

Over the next few days, I roamed the city, getting lost, tripping down stairs while trying to take a photo with my tripod, getting caught in a squall not once but twice, forgetting a clip on the double-decker tour bus, and constantly questioning what I should be doing or where I should eat.

I kid you not, I walked back and forth four times between two restaurants because I couldn't decide.

And when I finally chose a quaint little Italian restaurant, the window washers rolled down the street with the loudest pressure washer and crane imaginable to clean every building around me.

Some things don't change with age. I'm in my thirties and still making mistakes so you don't have to.

But somewhere between getting lost in Old Quebec, eating dinner alone, and wandering those cobblestone streets with nowhere I had to be, something shifted.

I stopped trying to optimize every decision. I stopped worrying about whether I was doing the trip "right." I stopped looking for reassurance from everyone else.

And for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—I realized I genuinely enjoy my own company.

I think I'm finally beginning to understand why Wendy left Neverland. Not because she suddenly wanted to do taxes and get a mortgage, but because there are certain lessons, connections, and versions of yourself that you simply can't discover until you grow up a little.

When I was younger, adventure meant chasing the next thing. The next country. The next city. The next experience. This trip felt different.

The world still felt big, but for the first time, I didn't.

For so long, I've moved through life feeling like I needed to prove myself. Prove I could build a career I loved. Prove I could make this blog work. Prove I was brave enough, successful enough, interesting enough.

And maybe it was the second squall running through cobble stones streets after my umbrella, I stopped trying to prove anything. I was just there. Present. Happy.

And maybe that's what growing up actually is.

I always tell people that solo travel is one of the most rewarding ways to see the world, and somewhere along the way I forgot that advice myself. Quebec City reminded me.

At the end of the day, you're the person you spend the most time with. And I have to say, I'm really loving this new version of Wanderland.

Maybe growing up wasn't about leaving Neverland behind after all.

Maybe it was about finding Wanderland.