We’ve heard this one a lot. Some version of:
“Wait, but Daxton’s only three, right? Isn’t he too young to remember any of this?”
It’s a fair question—and it’s one we’ve thought about more than once ourselves. Because yes, at three years old, Daxton might not remember the name of a single temple in Thailand. He may not recall the food in Vietnam, the train rides in Japan, or the smell of the eucalyptus trees in New Zealand. He probably won’t be able to tell you, ten years from now, what it felt like to fall asleep in a hammock in Bali or splash in a pool in Mauritius.
But here’s the thing: that’s never really been the point.
This trip isn’t about loading up our kids with postcard memories. It’s about something deeper and more foundational—about the relationships we’re building with each other right now, in this fleeting, magical, exhausting, beautiful stage of life.
We’re not traveling for the memories—they’re just a bonus. We’re traveling for the connection.
When else in our lives will we get to be this present with our kids—day after day, week after week, with no commutes, no meetings, no rushing to school drop-offs, no end-of-day exhaustion that gets in the way of play?
For Daxton, this year is about being surrounded—by us, by his sister, by the world. It’s about curiosity and rhythm and wonder. He might not remember the specifics, but he will absorb the experience. He’ll carry the rhythm of new languages and landscapes, the closeness of a family navigating the world together, the sense of security that comes from knowing his people are always there—even when everything around him is unfamiliar.
This trip will shape his inner world in ways that memory can’t capture but that will still leave their mark.
And here’s another part of the answer: we’re not just doing this for Daxton. We’re doing it with him. And, yes, a little bit for us, too.
Because Elisa and I are people, too—people who love travel, who feel alive in motion, who want to walk through a new city and not know what’s around the corner. And we believe that parents are allowed to pursue joy and adventure with their kids in tow, not in spite of them. This isn’t a “wait until they’re older” kind of dream. It’s a this is our family right now kind of dream.
So when people ask, “But won’t he be too young to remember?” our answer is: Maybe. But we won’t be.
We’ll maybe remember the way his eyes lit up at the airport when he saw the planes… the way he shouted “FAST CAR!” every time a red car zoomed past… the way he fell asleep on our shoulders on late-night tuk-tuk rides. Or maybe the way he became more himself, day by day, just by being in the world with us.
And maybe, just maybe, the version of Daxton we know in ten years—the way he approaches people, new places, and the unfamiliar—will be shaped in part by this year he spent with us, learning how big and beautiful the world really is.
