Traveling Beyond Limits: Redefining Adventure with a Disability

As long as I can remember, I’ve loved to travel and explore. I grew up a classic third culture kid – the child of international civil servants, born in one continent, raised on another continent, and shaped by cultures far from that of my parents’ place of origin in yet another. My earliest memories are stitched together by airports, new languages, and the thrill of discovery. Meeting people from different places, learning their customs, and absorbing new landscapes was more than just a pastime – it became the rhythm of my life.

When I became a parent, I dreamed of passing that same curiosity to my children. They grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area – a place of natural beauty and cultural richness – but I wanted them to experience the world the way I had: up close, unfiltered, and profoundly immersive. I longed to show them the wild expanses of East Africa, the lush rainforests of Southeast Asia, and the quiet magic of the savanna and the lagoon.

But life, as it often does, had its own itinerary.

At 27, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The word “devastating” was used – often and carelessly. I was told I’d have to give up work, slow down, and stop traveling. It was a prescription not just for illness, but for limitation. Defining someone by their disability is something many of us do, consciously or not. That’s a story for another time. But I decided early on that disability would not define the boundaries of my world – I would.

Two decades later, I look back at a career of nearly thirty years, a full life with two grown sons, and a passport filled with stamps that many of my able-bodied peers might never collect. I have traveled to Bali, Borneo, Botswana, Costa Rica, Tanzania – places that many assume are off-limits to those with mobility disabilities.

None of it was easy. My MS progressed over the years: from walking slowly, to relying on canes, to a walker, and now a wheelchair. Travel has become a logistical and physical challenge. But I’ve learned that adventure doesn’t depend on ease. In fact, the more effort it requires, the deeper the reward.

What surprised me most wasn’t the terrain, but the attitude of the travel industry. Even luxury travel agents, with their glossy brochures and breathtaking itineraries, often dismissed my plans. “That won’t be possible,” they’d say. “You wouldn’t enjoy it – there are steps, terraces, hills.” Some even steered me toward wheelchair-only tours – well-intentioned, but not what I wanted. I don’t choose destinations because they’re accessible. I choose them because they call to me, and then I figure out how to make them work.

To me, travel isn’t about ticking boxes – it’s about connection. The world belongs to all of us, not just the able-bodied. In some ways, my disability has sharpened my appreciation of nature’s grandeur – every sunset, every rustle in the jungle, every sound of rain feels magnified.

In recent years, I’ve returned to some of my dream destinations – not the convenient ones, but the wild, remote, soul-stirring places that require intention. In Bali, I stayed not at the flat resorts by the beach but in Ubud, among rice terraces and temples. In Borneo, I drifted along the Kinabatangan River and ventured deep into the Danum Valley. And in East Africa, I fulfilled a lifelong dream: a safari with my family, guided by experts who helped my sons see the land that shaped my early years.

Each journey took meticulous planning and an open heart. I travel with my family, who lend their strength and patience, and I bring my own – including the willingness to be helped, lifted, or carried if that’s what it takes. I will not gloss over how hard it is- there are risks, there are hiccups, and the unexpected can and does happen. But travel with a disability is not about denying limitations; it’s about figuring out how to address obstacles and, as those of us with disabilities know, we are resourceful, persistent and creative- because we have to be. If comfort is your priority, perhaps the kind of travel I do, to far-flung nature destinations, isn’t for you. But if you’re willing to embrace discomfort as part of discovery, the world opens up to you.

Luxury and disability are not opposites. They coexist in the courage to explore, the beauty of effort, and the joy of shared experience. Travel, at its best, is not about perfection – it’s about perspective.

This is why I write – to share ideas, inspiration, and practical insight for others who, like me, refuse to be told what they can’t do. That’s why I work with Inclu, because my friends at Inclu share my mindset, of never giving up, and following your passion. The world remains vast and full of wonder. And for those of us who choose to keep exploring it – wheels, canes, or otherwise – the journey is, and always will be, worth every step.

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