I didn’t expect to be tested before the journey even began.

But I was. In the most sudden, violent, and unforgettable way.

I was on the highway, driving back from South Dakota with my children and our dogs. We had just registered the vehicle that was going to take us to Latin America. It was a Lexus LX 470 — solid, powerful, safe. I had every intention of getting home, finishing preparations, and setting off on our adventure.

And then the rear tire blew out at over 75 miles per hour.

In an instant, the car began to fishtail. I gripped the wheel. I was fully focused, thank God — no distractions, no phone in my hand. Just instinct and presence. I don’t remember every movement, but I remember steering toward the guardrail, somehow knowing that I needed to stop the vehicle that way. I remember the sound of scraping metal. I remember the blur. And I remember climbing out of the window because the doors were pinned against the cables — and getting my children out, one by one.

No one was injured. Not even a scratch.

But I was rattled in a way I had never felt before.

The Fear Came After

It wasn’t the crash that scared me the most — it was the aftershock.

That night, I was flooded with doubt.

What am I doing?  

What if this is a sign not to go?  

What if this is too dangerous?  

What if I can’t protect my children?

The fear wasn’t just about the road. It was existential.  

This journey — the one I had been dreaming about for so long — suddenly felt fragile.

And yet, even in that space of fear, something deeper inside me whispered: “You’re still going.”

Why Didn’t I Turn Back?

I could have.

A different version of me might have taken that accident as a full stop.  

A reason to unpack everything, cancel the trip, play it safe.

But this time?

The pull toward the journey was stronger than the fear that rose up to stop it.

I don’t even know exactly why I feel so called to this trip.  

It’s not just about travel or scenery or new culture — it’s something bigger.  

Something I feel in my bones.

And if I didn’t go?  

I knew I’d regret it.  

Not just a little — deeply.

The Protector

The next morning, still shaken but clear, I went out and bought another vehicle.

Not just any vehicle. A 2013 Lexus LX 570.

Why?  

Because the LX 470 saved our lives. I trust its bones.  

And the LX 570 — though newer and more refined — is cut from the same cloth.  

Heavy. Solid. Safe.  

A fortress on wheels.

This new SUV isn’t just a replacement — she’s my protector.  

She’ll carry us through borders, across landscapes, through storms and stillness.  

She will hold my children, my dogs, and our dreams as we chase something wild and beautiful.

I’m Still Going

The accident didn’t stop me.  

It shook me, yes.  

It humbled me.  

It opened my eyes.

But in the end, it did something else:

It proved to me that I can walk through fear and keep going.

That I’m not doing this because I’m fearless.  

I’m doing this because something inside me knows this journey is mine.  

And now — more than ever — I’m ready for it.

The road begins soon.  

We’re packed. We’re prepared.  

We’re going.

Because if something was going to stop me…  

It would’ve been that accident.  

And I’m still here.

Still going.