When you travel with anyone—be it family, a partner, friends, or colleagues—you quickly learn a lot about them. There’s an old saying that your first trip with a partner is a "make or break" moment, and I’ve found that to hold a lot of truth. Travel forces you to reveal your true preferences, navigate new and sometimes uncomfortable situations, and handle the unpredictability of plans going awry. It's also a chance to immerse yourself in new cultures, experience new adventures, and open your eyes to different ways of life. These experiences can either strengthen relationships or highlight fundamental differences, making travel a revealing and transformative endeavor for everyone involved.
It’s challenging enough managing traveling with sparse luggage, on the go for a few days or weeks. But obviously our situation is a little more extreme. Or perhaps the most extreme if I’m being honest with myself, in that we’ve gone fully nomadic, on the move for a total of two years. Add bulky scuba diving gear and heavy camera equipment to the mix. To top it all off, our destinations are more often than not remote, challenging, and hard-to-reach locations that change every 2-5 weeks. And imagine doing it all with your spouse and best friend. The point is, you really need to like the people you're traveling with under these conditions.
For the most part, we all get along. We respect each other's skills, have a lot of fun doing the work we’re here to do in the field, and share a remarkable work ethic. Even though our personalities and experiences differ, these shared passions have forged a strong bond among us, making our weird living arrangement not only possible, but enjoyable.
But the story I'm about to share isn't about the good times of life voyaging the seas. Living on the edges of the earth with these two is not always peaches and butterflies, and that has made me realize over the course of a year how much I really do love them with all my heart. And in terms of hardships faced on a journey such as ours, we recently experienced one so shocking and unexpected that it tested us to the core.
It all started when we bought a car in Panama to drive the entire stretch of Central America. By the time we made it to Belize in early May, we had successfully crossed five country borders under Adam's careful watch. Adam guides us in terms of logistics, equipment, and safety for our expedition, and has sincerely owned the role. Everywhere we go, we know every detail of our plans, locations, and, most importantly, how to stay safe. This dedication often keeps Adam up at night, researching and scouring his sources to ensure everything goes smoothly.
I've come to fully embrace that Adam is a perfectionist in this respect—far from what I am. While I’m a dreamer, he’s a realist, and because of that, we make a pretty solid team. It’s entirely why we’ve been able to accomplish what we have for a year straight on an expedition to the remote and interesting corners of our blue planet. I've learned to value mashing together our skills, even though at times I certainly get annoyed being called out on my lack of awareness around the nitty gritty. I come up with grand ideas and shoot for the stars, while Adam pulls them back down to the earth (or at least, its edges).
Adam had driven the entire Central stretch himself, giving Marla and me the space to work while on the road. So by the time we hit Belize, Adam was exhausted. We arrived on May 1st, and our spirits were high. One of the best memories from Belize was visiting a butterfly sanctuary with Adam. The gorgeous bugs of all varieties landed on us, with Adam getting far more attention than me, which I was not happy about! But not all good can stay, and after that, things took a drastic turn.
On May 5, we learned the shocking news that two of Adam’s closest childhood friends had tragically passed while on a surf trip in the north of Baja, Mexico. Upon learning this news, we were on a tiny boat with all our gear, leaving mainland Belize to head to the biggest offshore atoll in the country, Turneffe. Our destination was a field station where we would live alongside rangers and scientists to learn about the deadly coral disease wreaking havoc throughout the Caribbean and heavily impacting the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef system. It was going to be humble living: no air conditioning, set meal times with authentic Belizean food, blazing hot sun as a heatwave scorched the country, and rough, rocky conditions as we traversed the atoll, diving from site to site.
The three of us were grappling with the heavy news of life lost too soon. Adam, our trusted spirit guide, the one with all the answers, and our team organizer, fully went down. A fever ignited, his appetite vanished, shivers plagued him through the night, and grief slowly but surely took over. Seeing anyone, especially your husband, in these conditions and feeling this way, is a pain like no other.
We had our own rooms, each equipped with just one outlet, a small fan, and a basic bed with a mattress. Adam would sweat through his sheets, consumed by fever and grief. I checked on him regularly between dives, but every time I left his room, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Seeing the person I love most in such a state was heartbreaking. Marla, ever the supportive friend, would hold me as I cried, both of us silently wondering when, or if, things would ever return to what we deemed our weird brand of "normal."
This was the first time I saw Adam like this. For me, he's always been my rock, my hero, the person I go to for everything. In our relationship, it had always been the other way around—Adam picking me up when I was down. When I first moved to Australia in 2019, I struggled to adjust. I moved from one of the biggest cities in the world to one of the most isolated, and I needed to find my footing. Adam lived three hours away. I was alone in a completely new place, hating my job, and not making friends as fast as I hoped, all while learning to grow more comfortable and confident in the ocean. Everything felt like a new hurdle: from driving on the other side of the road to understanding Aussie slang. At times, the amount of “new” was exhausting. But Adam was always there—either a phone call away or a three-hour drive— ready to turn things around when I was sad.
In 2020, I lost my working visa, and Adam was there to support me both financially and emotionally. In 2021, I lost both my grandmother and grandfather, and it was devastating not to be able to leave Australia to be with my family in America due to the pandemic. Once again, Adam was there to wipe my tears. During these times, I realized I wanted to spend my life with him. From 2019 to 2023, Adam and I never lived together continuously, as I was in and out of Australia for three months at a time on mini expeditions, all while plotting and planning for our real-time grand journey. We were rarely in the same place at the same time, but when we were, it was pure magic.
In 2023 we took the great plunge together. Adam quit his job, I ended my lease, we sold many of our belongings, and moved into his parents' house for a few weeks before embarking on our two-year global expedition. Happiness was my new brand, because for the first time, my husband and I would truly be together—all day, every day, for two years straight. It was a dream come true.
But by April 2023, I hit rock bottom after spraining my back. I couldn't walk, eat, or move my lower body. We had to cancel the first four legs of the expedition that I had spent months planning. I was devastated, not to mention experiencing some significant pain. Once again, Adam was there. It was far from easy for either of us, but he stayed by my side as I cried day in and day out, without any questions or complaints. He bathed me, fed me, and tried to comfort me to sleep at night when the pain was unbearable. It was the epitome of "in sickness and in health"—a moment where I started to understand what marriage was really all about.
And now, here in Belize on a remote island under the blazing sun, it was my turn to step up. I never had to do this for Adam—certainly not for something this extreme. I was flipping through the mental notebook of all the tips and tricks Adam had taught me about being a good partner: be there, speak softly, listen, hold him, say less and do more, support whatever decisions he makes to find comfort, and show up when he asks.
From May 5th onward, I watched the man I love try to keep his head up amidst the hurt. He did a far better job than I ever did, when our roles were reversed. But, I could see how the pressure of being on the edges of earth was certainly taking its toll amidst the ongoing circumstances. It’s in Adam’s nature to remain calm, cool, collected and accommodating, but the weight of his suffering beneath the surface was obvious to me. So by May 25th, we agreed to part ways. He would return to Australia to attend the funerals, while I would head off on a 10-day liveaboard with zero cell service or connectivity on a partner assignment. While I wanted to be by his side for the funerals and support him while he grieved among his family and friends, unfortunately two tickets to a destination as far and remote as Perth last minute were not within our expedition budget.
But we were back to a way we were so accustomed to from years of long-distance: international dating. I was heartbroken, but knew this was needed for us both. For him to grieve, and for me to think of all the ways I could show up for this person that I always knew was so special. Only living on the edges together really validated that truth that much more.
Adam and I have been married for only a short few years. And upon our wedding day, we knew NOTHING about what that truly meant. Not in comparison to people who have been together a lifetime, have raised a family or who have suffered more loss than us. But, what I will say is that we've packed a lot of "life" into a short period of time—from losing jobs, working rights, moving around the world, long distance, heartbreak, death, and injury.
I'm proud to say that Adam has shown me how to do this dang thing. He gave me the blueprint for how to show up for your partner. And showed me what it means to be wholeheartedly “good.” What I've taken away from this moment in particular is that if you choose to spend your life with someone, there are certainly going to be BAD times you can’t hide from. It's a choice every day how you are going to show up for each other. It's a choice to make it work.
When two people continue to choose each other—for better or for worse, in sickness and in health—they form an unbreakable bond. Material and surface things stop mattering, and you get a chance to see someone's genuine truth. Who they REALLY are. If you're lucky, you'll grow and evolve together, putting communication and shared interests first to keep the spark alive. Since May 5th, things have changed for us—as an expedition team, as a couple, as individuals, but especially for Adam. We will never be the same. I think grief as profound as his never goes away for good, but will only change over time. These moments, and these kinds of tests, help you realize what matters most.
Going to the most extreme edges has taught me a lot about our natural world, for sure. But above all else, it’s shown me the importance of human connection and the power of love. When you find your people, hold on to them with all you’ve got, because life is short and can change in an instant. We've learned this firsthand. I hope I get so lucky to have a long lifetime with my husband, best friend, and others I love. But if I don't, I know right now that we've fully lived, experiencing both the most spectacular and the most challenging moments thrown our way. Living life this way, riding the highs and lows, makes it all worthwhile. And I think that’s what it means to be alive. My only hope is that I can be more like Adam as we navigate the next chapters of our lives, as he’s consistently proven he’s one of one.
To be continued …
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