Steven LaChance Blog

I was talking with my husband, Rick, the other day—just one of those quiet moments after we’d dropped our bags and taken a deep breath. We’ve been on the road for a month now, weaving our way from one city to the next, and I could tell he sensed something in my mood.

Madrid had been… rough. Not the bright, sunlit strolling-under-the-orange-trees kind of rough, but those days when nothing aligns: our feet ached, rain drummed on our umbrella, and the language felt like a locked door we couldn’t open.

“Are you okay?” Rick asked, pausing mid-stride as I stared at the shuttered café across the plaza.

I smiled, but only just. “I’m fine. It’s just been tougher than I expected.”

He nodded, and that’s when it clicked for me. Travel isn’t always about the glossy postcards or the easy Instagram moments. It’s about signing up for the full package—the high notes and the low. If I’d come here only to chase perfect sunsets, I’d have missed what Madrid was showing me: its storms, its sudden turns, and the way it made me feel completely unmoored.

“That’s why we’re here,” I said, turning to him. “Not just for the good days, but for the days that take everything you’ve got.”

Rick grinned. “True. Sometimes the best lessons come wrapped in the hardest moments.”

And damn, he wasn’t kidding. There was a multiple‑country power outage. We had to walk five miles because everything shut firm. I waited five hours in a train station and a man literally died in front of me. It was much more than a fucking language barrier.

We’ve smiled at each other under that blazing Spanish sun and felt close to tears in that echoing, grand basilica. We’ve stumbled over words and felt the warmth of people who speak nothing like us. All of it—every single piece—is why we travel. We’re not spectators on a tour bus; we’re actors in a play, improvising every day.

“Think about it,” I said, “if we only stood on the sidelines, we’d miss the real beauty. The real reality of it.”

Rick slipped his hand into mine. “Here’s to the next adventure then—rough patches included.”

I looked out at the winding streets, at the old stone walls holding centuries of stories, and I felt ready again. This is travel: the joy, the sadness, the unexpected lessons in between. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.