Finding Strength in Service—How Travel Transformed My Purpose

From Adventure Seeker to Community Builder

Travel as More Than Sightseeing

For many, travel is an escape—an adventure into the unknown, a chance to explore new landscapes, immerse in different cultures, or simply break away from routine. We picture bustling city streets, sweeping mountain vistas, or pristine beaches kissed by the sun.

When facing my cancer diagnosis, I realized that living fully meant not just seeking my adventures but creating a meaningful impact wherever I go. This perspective has become central to how I navigate my health journey and my travels—finding strength not in escaping challenges but in channeling my energy toward something greater than myself.

I was no different. My travels started as a pursuit of movement, a hunger for new experiences, and a way to push the limits of what I thought was possible. I sought out places that felt wild and untamed, places that tested me physically, mentally, and emotionally. But over the years, I’ve learned that my most transformative journeys weren’t about where I went—they were about what I left behind.

I never set out to be a volunteer traveler. I wasn’t looking for purpose—I was looking for adventure. But somewhere along the way, I discovered that travel could be something deeper—something rooted not in what I sought to take in but in what I was willing to give.

Why Giving Back Matters: My Journey with Habitat for Humanity

Volunteering has become a deeply important part of my life. Since retiring, I’ve dedicated time to Habitat for Humanity—particularly on Cape Cod, MA—an organization that aligns with my values in a way few others do.

Why Habitat and not another organization? Their tagline says it all: “Not a handout—a hand up.” That distinction matters. I want to give my time to something that creates real change, something that empowers rather than simply provides. Habitat doesn’t just build houses; it helps families build stability, self-sufficiency, and a future.

It’s not just about giving someone a fish—it’s about teaching them how to fish, making sure they have the right tools, the knowledge to use them, and the confidence to sustain what they’ve built. That’s what Habitat does. And for me, my role is usually at the end of a hammer—which is exactly where I like it.

I’ve had the privilege of working alongside people from all walks of life—volunteers, future homeowners, retirees, and skilled tradespeople who donate their time to something bigger than themselves. Each build is different, but the sense of purpose is always the same. We aren’t just constructing houses; we’re creating homes, forging stability, and building something that will outlast us all.

I remember one particular build where I was repurposing old, discarded cabinets. At first glance, they seemed destined for a landfill—worn, outdated, and useless. But with the right tools and a little effort, I turned them into something that looked brand new. They became a functional part of a family’s home—a bathroom vanity, kitchen cabinets, a storage unit that would hold more than just household items, but a sense of security and permanence. That simple act of restoration mirrored something larger for me: the realization that everything, and everyone, deserves a second chance.

Bringing Service Into My Travels

In 2017, I set out on a journey across the U.S., spending three months living out of my truck camper. It was a dream come true—a chance to embrace the open road, ski in remote mountain ranges, explore national parks, and experience the vastness of the country on my own terms.

At first, my travels were entirely about adventure. The rush of a powder day in the Rockies, the solitude of a desert sunrise, the satisfaction of navigating a remote backroad and knowing I was completely self-sufficient. But after a while, something felt missing.

I realized I had been taking from the experience of travel without giving back.

Then it hit me—why couldn’t I do both? Why couldn’t my journeys be about adventure and service?

That’s when I started incorporating volunteer work into my itineraries.

• In Marathon, Florida, I helped rebuild homes after Hurricane Irma, meeting families who had spent months in limbo, waiting for a return to normalcy.

• In Bozeman, Montana, I worked on a Housing First project, helping to create transitional housing for those experiencing chronic homelessness.

• In Anchorage, Alaska, I spent two weeks with Habitat for Humanity, constructing condos in the harsh winter cold, knowing that future generations of Alaskans would live and thrive in those spaces.

• In towns with Habitat ReStores, I would plan ahead and spend a day volunteering, helping to refurbish donated furniture, organizing materials, and contributing in a way that supported Habitat’s broader mission.

• In Squamish, British Columbia, I joined a river recovery project—one I had first learned about years ago during a NOLS rock climbing course. When I found myself back in Squamish recently, I realized my timing coincided with one of their scheduled restoration events. Without hesitation, I joined in.

But service doesn’t always come in the form of organized projects. Sometimes, it’s about seeing a kindred spirit and choosing to make an impact in an unexpected way.

I think about a night in Revelstoke, British Columbia, sitting at the bar after a long day on the mountain, when I struck up a conversation with the bartender. She was a fellow wanderer, saving every dollar for her next adventure, where she would continue her immersive way of experiencing a place—not just visiting, but living, working, and becoming part of it.

We swapped stories about the road, about the places that had changed us. As I left, I handed her a big tip and told her it was for her future adventure fund.

I think about a different night, a different conversation—this time at a quiet restaurant, where my server and I started talking about where in the world we most wanted to visit next. For her, it was Hawaii—not just for the beaches, but to live there, to understand it in a way that goes beyond a postcard or a weeklong vacation.

I left her a big tip,  too. Not because it was expected, but because I wanted her to have something tangible toward that dream.

Did either of them ever make it to their destinations? I don’t know. I can only hope. I can only dream that they did. And in some small way, it feels good to know that I might have helped—however narrowly—in nudging someone toward something they truly wanted.

Because, in the end, isn’t that what we all need? Someone to believe in our dreams, even in the smallest ways?

Final Reflection

Now, when I look at a map, I don’t just see places I’ve been—I see places where I’ve left a piece of myself.

I see a street in Florida where a family is rebuilding their life. I see a small home in Montana where someone is sleeping under a solid roof for the first time in years. I see a row of condos in Alaska that will shelter families for generations. I see a river in Squamish, flowing cleaner, moving freer, because a group of people—myself included—chose to give a few hours of their time.

I see a bartender in Revelstoke, a server at a quiet restaurant, and two dreamers who might—just maybe—be somewhere out in the world right now, living the life they once only imagined.

Travel has the power to change us—but even more powerful is the way we can change the world in return.

Some people collect passport stamps. Others collect souvenirs.

But the most valuable thing I’ve gathered from my travels isn’t something I could carry home.

It’s the knowledge that somewhere out there, a home stands stronger, a person stands taller, a river runs cleaner, and a community stands together—all because I chose to show up.

And that’s something worth traveling for.

Thom