Finding & Following That Flamingo

Check out our latest adventure by van in America. 🚐🌵

Finding That Flamingo

So, how did I go from navigating the world solo to finding Floyd, you wonder? You already know where our paths intersected—now, this is the story of how—the journey, when—the moment, and why—the purpose.

After nearly a decade of chasing horizons across the globe, I found myself stirred to the core—marveling at wonders that defied imagination and diving into adventures that left me exhilarated, wide-eyed, and wide open. The world had unfolded in breathtaking variety, and I had never felt more alive—waking each day to a blank canvas, brimming with endless possibilities of what to see and do. And with every new horizon, came encounters with cultures unlike my own, each offering a new way through which to see the world—to connect, to find joy, to live differently. And that changed me. Travel became not just a muse, but a mirror—reflecting the parts of myself I had yet to truly know or understand. It gave me a space for reinvention that the comfort and conformity of home never did.

And I was grateful—for where I was, and for where I had come from. Grateful for the small town that taught me resourcefulness and wholesome values—qualities that proved invaluable along the way. Grateful for everything I had learned as a homeowner, a business owner, and a partner—skills and insights that, as it turns out, would come in handy later. And I was even grateful that those things had been taken away. Because in their absence, I found my way back to where I was always meant to be—becoming the person I was always meant to become. With each step forward, my stride grew lighter, my direction clearer, and my path more certain. And with every new horizon, I was invited to discover what stirred my soul—and to uncover who I truly was.

And my road to discovery stretched out before me, offering a rich tapestry of opportunities for exploration and growth. I found myself evolving—walking with greater confidence, making choices with more conviction. And this should be the moment in the story when the girl is confident enough to stay grounded in what she’s doing and where she’s going—and when the universe puts her to the test, she passes with flying colours. But sadly, it isn’t. Instead, it's the moment in the story where her journey took an unexpected turn, after returning back to Canada for a visit—and somehow, I losing her footing, and with it, her way.

Why didn’t I continue down the open road stretched out before me, you wonder? The path that had been transforming me, filling me with joy and purpose? That's good question—because before my visit, I had every intention, of returning to it and moving forward. Well, the answer to that question begins with these questions—from puzzled friends and family that went something like this:

“Aren’t you scared, traveling alone as a woman?” “ "Don’t you get lonely?”
“How can you afford it?” “What about buying a house, saving for retirement and making smart investments?”
“What are you trying to escape from?”
" Why go around the world just to visit tiny towns—especially when you come from one?”
“Why veer off the beaten path instead of sticking to big cities and famous landmarks like everyone else? Wouldn’t that make things simpler? Cut down all that extra planning?

The questions were easy enough to address.

“Well, sure—the odd time. But not very often, and far less than I ever did in the big cities here at home. As a solo female traveler, I find that fellow travelers and locals alike are often quick to offer a helping hand to a non-threatening young woman traveling alone.”

“Loneliness? It happens occasionally, but it’s not as isolating as you might think. There’s always a community of fellow wanderers eager to connect. And again and again, the locals I stay with welcome me as one of their own—treating me like family, keeping an eye out for me.”

"Money is a concern—but less so than here at home, where rent and car payments weigh heavily. I make it work by being mindful: staying longer in one place to get better rates, cooking my own meals whenever I can, and honestly, the best things to see and do are often free—or cost very little at all."

"I'm not escaping from anything. I love what I'm doing."

"Because every tiny town is uniquely different from my own—with a different culture, a different landscape, a different way of life. And those are the opportunities to step into another person’s shoes and world. To truly get to know the place and the people. And there really isn't a whole lot more planning involved. In fact, when I loosen my grip on rigid plans and fixed expectations, I make room for chance encounters that often lead to the most memorable experiences. And while famed landmarks do have their merit, I have come to realize that the greatest rewards often lie beyond them—on the road less traveled. That is where the extraordinary, unparalleled, one-of-a-kind experiences happen."

My answers were every bit the truth I knew—no wishful thinking involved. I understood that the questions came from a good place—rooted in care, concern, and simply stemming from a lack of first-hand experience. They echoed the mainstream narrative—the one that so often confines and steers us through fear and doubt. And yet… even knowing all of this, the questions lingered. They nestled into quiet corners of my mind, filling them with uncertainty—with second-guessing.

Was I seeing things all wrong?
Had I just been lucky—naïve, even—when it came to safety?
Was I refusing to admit I was lonely?
Was I spending my money wisely?
Was I running from something?
Should I have stayed on the beaten path, like everyone else?
Were those the places people actually wanted to hear about?

And to finish answering the initial question—why didn’t I continue down the open road stretched out before me? Well, it turns out that even after seven years of travel and transformation, and all the confidence and self-assurance I had gained, I still didn’t know how to truly listen to my own voice—to give it precedence, to offer it the attention and weight it deserved. And I hadn’t yet learned how to fully follow my heart and quiet my mind, which loved to stir up doubt, as minds do. So, with those inner traits still underdeveloped, my path became vulnerable to a temporary shift—off the road less traveled and onto the beaten one—where I thought, perhaps, my friends and family would feel more assured, and where I wondered if it might be the more sensible path to take.

Even though, deep down, I already knew it that wasn't.

And deep down, I sensed that my friends and family had been reassured by my responses—that I was traveling the path I was meant to—even if they never said so aloud.

Even so, when my journey abroad resumed, I found myself staying in big cities and visiting famous landmarks—like most travelers. And for the first time in my life, I felt truly lonely. Ironic, really, to feel so isolated while surrounded by so many people. But here’s the thing: genuine connections with local people and fellow travelers were harder to find and forge in the city. Most locals were swept up in the relentless pace of urban life, and the travelers I encountered felt more transient—focused on scratching the surface, snapping pictures, and ticking off boxes of must-see sights rather than immersing themselves in the culture and the full experience. And ironically, despite the convenience and infrastructure of the cities, I found myself planning even more. Sure, I could get to certain places faster by bus or train—but the thing is, those weren’t the places I truly wanted to go. The ones that called to me were remote and unique, offering authentic, one-of-a-kind experiences far beyond the reach of regular transit routes. They were the kind of places that often required a long walk or bike ride, and spending the night in a nearby village.

And in one final twist of irony, it was then—eight years into my travels—that I felt most like a foreigner. Because, for the first time, I found myself actually running from something: the travel and adventures that I loved—and the version of myself that I was becoming while living them. But I should’ve seen it coming. And if I’m being truly honest with myself, I did. I’d been down this road before—briefly—and I knew exactly where it led: virtually nowhere. It was a congested, gridlocked road with little flow and no meaningful forward movement. Along it, I moved mechanically past structured landscapes—hard pavement beneath my feet, towering skyscrapers casting long shadows over me. But within that congestion, I realized there was still hope. Because long ago, this very road had once led me to veer off and find my own path—the one filled with happiness and childlike wonder. The path where my days were spent crossing wooden bridges over rushing rivers, stepping into ancient forests, rocky caves, and abandoned ruins in search of buried stories and treasures.

Perhaps, if I were fortunate enough, it would lead me there once again—and if it did, then this time, I would know with unwavering certainty that it was it was meant for me. And I thought to myself how wonderful it would be to be guided back there—if it truly was my path. And how lovely it would be to have a friend walking beside me—to share the journey, and help me find my way.

And that was the story of why my flamingo appeared.

And this is the story of how and when.

That night, my thought took root quietly but firmly—and by the next afternoon, it had begun to bloom. The city woke as it always did, with horns blaring, sirens wailing, and a relentless hum pressing in from every direction. It all felt like an echo of the restless night before—the same echo that had carried through mornings for weeks. Crowds hurried past in tight formations, faces taut with tension, moving with a kind of rhythmic urgency that felt choreographed by exhaustion. But this morning would end differently than those that came in the weeks before. Something different—yet fabulously familiar—was on the horizon. That particular day, when the clock struck twelve, something made me wander. It was as if my thoughts fell silent—just for a moment—as though an invisible force was gently pulling me forward. I had no idea where it was taking me, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t mind. It simply felt good to be out of my head for a while—to let the city noise dissolve, and to allow something else to lead, if only for a moment.

And before I knew it, my steps had carried me beyond the structured city walls and into an open horizon—untamed, vast, and alive. My surroundings shifted: the stillness of traffic gave way to a flowing breeze; the artificial asphalt faded into an unpaved, natural path; and the towering structures receded, replaced by a sweeping tropical expanse where sand met sea. And with that shift in my surroundings, something within me shifted too. I felt more like myself again—free to simply be me. Now, to the unseasoned traveler, I may have seemed lost—but I knew that I had more direction now than I’d had in quite some time. And that was what truly mattered. I also knew that I was following something I hadn't followed in quite some time—my intuition and my heart—and that that felt fabulous.

I did not yet know how to name the unseen forces that were guiding me—but that would come in due time. For now, what mattered most was that I was following them and acknowledging how good it felt. As I walked further into the magical setting where sand met sea, a new story was unfolding—threading its way through the waves to the shore, into the sand beneath me, and into the soles of my feet. In this chapter, the pelicans played a part—puffing up their pouches as I walked past, making me chuckle at their bold antics and reminding me of a fond childhood memory: one particularly daring pelican chasing my brother and tugging at his swim trunks, setting off a ripple of laughter from me and my parents. And dolphins, too, joined the cast of characters—leaping through the waves as I looked out over the sea, their exuberance stirring something deep within me and unlocking a memory of a winter break spent as a child, playing basketball with dolphins at a marine park near my grandparents’ home—a time when I felt as happy as I can ever remember feeling.

As I wandered along the shore, the dolphins’ whistles rang through the salty air—almost as if they were applauding some unseen spectacle. The pelicans snapped their beaks in spirited assertion, as though they too were celebrating an invisible performance. Waves of insight and clarity were rolling in. The dolphins, with their playful energy, sparked a revelation: that everyday play isn't just for childhood—but should be a vital part of adulthood, too. And the pelicans, with their bold antics, nudged me not to take life so seriously, and to laugh a little more often. Waves of insight and clarity were rolling in with the tide. Then the sea, ancient and knowing, whispered like a sage, “Welcome back to your path.” And with that, a sense of certainty hit me like a tidal wave.

And as I anchored myself there in the sand, I no longer felt lonely. Instead, I felt deeply connected—surrounded by a diverse array of seaside inhabitants who graced me with their presence. Even the famously anti-social hermit crabs had emerged from their shells—although perhaps it wasn’t to say hello, but to watch the invisible show. Nevertheless, I was grateful to be among them—to feel welcome in that shared moment, where I felt like an integral part of the setting, contributing, in my own quiet way, to the rhythm of the beach. And with that feeling, a new seaside creature graced my presence—making a grand, theatrical entrance, as if he were both the star of the invisible beach performance and the star in my story.

There it was, in its fine, flamboyant form, flailing about in a frenzy of expression—almost as if dazzling an audience like a showman mid-performance. And I was completely captivated by its striking, iconic pink plumage and its animated personality, full of charisma and charm. In that moment, some cherished childhood memories surfaced—one from a favorite storybook of mine, where I recalled the clever and comical role flamingos played in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, teasing the Queen of Hearts with their exaggerated movements and expressions, adding to the whimsy of the tale; and another of watching flamingos on the beach during a childhood vacation, where I’d been thoroughly amused by how puzzled they looked while bobbing for food, and how elegant they looked striking poised, one-legged yoga poses—creatures somehow both graceful and goofy.

And with that appreciation for their originality, I felt inspired to embrace my own authenticity—and perhaps even to celebrate it. This magnificent creature in front of me stood tall, unapologetically radiant. And I should too.

Then, as if magnetized by my gaze, the extraordinary being—moving with otherworldly grace—drifted closer. And with a sudden, slightly stunned look on its face, it smiled, a glimmer of puzzlement and wonder in its eyes, and said, quite unexpectedly, “Well, hello there.”

“What are you?” it asked, tilting its head with wide-eyed curiosity, its feathers shimmering in the sunlight like sparks of magic.

“A human,” I replied, uncertain if that was the answer he was looking for—or if this surreal little interaction was even really happening.

“Well, you must be Robinson Crusoe, then,” he said, an excited smile stretching across his face.

"No, I’m Bree,” I replied, amused by his reference. “But I am an adventurer—very much like Robinson."

“I am Floyd—The—Fabulous Flamingo,” he proclaimed, fluffing out his feathers with theatrical grandeur. "And I’d like to go on an adventure with you!”

“Um… sure,” I replied, perplexed—wondering if I’d officially lost my grip on reality, or if my imagination had possibly run that wild.

"Well then, follow me,” he declared, fluffing out his feathers even further, as if ready to take flight.

Find Your Flamingo

Bright living room with modern inventory

Following That Flamingo

And that leaves us with the what. The "what " I followed my flamingo to. The better, more exciting and rewarding part of the story.

Once the shock wore off, and I decided it didn’t matter whether I’d lost the plot or not, I let the excitement settle in as we set off into the sunset, headed toward the adventure ahead. And with just a few small steps in, Floyd—barely able to contain himself—launched headfirst into his signature Floyd–The–Fabulous material: a dazzling array of swamp tales, quirky fun facts about its lively inhabitants, and animated recollections of the mentors who had shaped his journey. He spoke enthusiastically of the parrot who had taught him the art of entertainment, ensuring his stories would always captivate an audience—elevating them from simple swamp-side shows to show-stopping sea-side spectacles. And he spoke with great reverence of the turtle, the wise navigator who had taught him how to chart great distances, guiding him from the soggy swamp all the way to the salty sea.

“What will we do tomorrow, Floyd?” I wondered aloud.
Which, of course, elicited a fascinating fun fact and a hilariously witty reply.

“Well!” he began. “Did you know that flamingos shut down half their brain at night while the other half stays awake?”

I laughed at the absurdity, unsure whether he was pulling my leg—until a quick Google search confirmed it.

“And that,” Floyd continued with a clever grin, “means I can think and plan tonight… while you—and part of me—are asleep.”

That sent me into uncontrollable laughter. What a character I had for a companion! And what a blessing he was. With him, I felt free to be silly—in fact, my part pretty much called for it.

“And maybe,” Floyd mused aloud, “on our way to tomorrow’s adventure, you could teach me some fun facts about humans—and tell me your story?”

His eyes lit up. “I’d love to learn some new material!” he said, bright-eyed. “That might be the secret ingredient that takes me from seaside spectacles… to stardom!” he declared with dramatic flair, striking a pose as if the world were already watching.

“And perhaps we could even write our own story,” he continued ambitiously. “And in it, I could be the star! The hero!” he proclaimed.

“Just like the turtle in the epic tale of The Tortoise and the Hare!” he added, practically vibrating with excitement. “And of course, you’d be the co-star... and the heroine,” he said with infectious enthusiasm.

As requested, the following morning I shared some fun facts about humans and told my story to Floyd. And it went something like this:

“Did you know Floyd, that the human brain generates enough electricity to power a small light bulb? Which means... I can offer the half of you that stays awake tonight a complimentary nightlight,” I said slyly.

“Darling, I knew you were bright—but I didn’t realize you were literally luminous,” he responded without a second to spare.

I giggled, proud of myself for coming up with a clever fun fact on the spot, though I quickly realized I still had a ways to go to keep up with Floyd–The–Fabulous.

As requested, the following morning, I shared some fun facts about humans and shared my story with Floyd. And it went something like this:

"Did you know, that the human brain generates enough electricity to power a small light bulb? And that means, I can offer the half of you that stays awake tonight... a complimentary nightlight.” I said slyly.

"Darling, I knew you were bright—but I didn’t realize you were literally luminous.” he responded without a second to spare. I giggled and was proud of myself for coming up with a clever fun fact on the spot but was also aware that I had a ways to go, to keep up with Floyd–The–Fabulous.

As I shared my story with Floyd, we uncovered parallels—moments where his experiences mirrored mine, where he could truly relate. But he also saw something more: a place in the narrative where he could step into the tale and become the hero of our unfolding story… all the while helping me become the heroine I was always meant to be. From my story, he sensed strength and determination. But he also picked up on something else—a hint of what I was missing for me to wholeheartedly claim the title of heroine—and him, of hero: a bit more confidence, conviction, and balance. And those? Well, those were things he could teach me. Because confidence? He had enough for both of us.
Conviction? With his unshakable poise and unwavering authenticity—that was a piece of cake.
Balance? Come on. He was a self-certified master of it: standing effortlessly on one long, lanky leg, managing his half-asleep and half-awake brain every night, effortlessly finding just the right amount of fun, while weaving in the perfect dose of flair into each and every day.

Floyd grinned from ear to ear, already envisioning the headlines heralding his heroism—turning over potential titles for his tale.

“How do you like Floyd—The Fabulous—Facilitator?” he asked, daydreaming of the stories that would ripple through the swamp and echo across the sea—stories that would speak of the great teachings and invaluable guidance he brought the girl.

“How about The Whimsical Wizard?” I responded.

We both smiled, proud of our clever titles. And as Floyd walked beside me, I thought of how lovely it was to have someone to share the journey with and help me find me way. And with that thought, it dawned on me: that this flamingo friend strutting beside me might just be the very companion I’d hoped for back in the city—to share the journey with me, and help me find my way. I chuckled at the hilariously bizarre, yet undeniably perfect pairing, recognizing that—in every sense—I had manifested this comical companion. And then, I doubled over in uncontrollable laughter as I recalled how, when I had hoped for this friend, I’d pictured one that was tall, dark, and handsome.

But what I got instead was long, pink, and quirky.

And it was just what I needed.

Now, back to the heroic tale…

Floyd—being the Whimsical Wizard and Fabulous Facilitator that he was—helped build my confidence by teaching me how to tune into my intuition (or as he liked to call it, “the flamingo feeling”) to know what was truly right for me. And he showed me how to embrace my uniqueness—just like a flamingo does in a flock of pigeons. It stands tall. It shines bright. It doesn’t try to blend in—because it can’t, not with its bright, bold, beautiful colors. He taught me how to have conviction—by trusting wherever my flamingo feeling led me. And Floyd also taught me how to find balance—how to infuse just the right blend of fun and flair into every single day. But let’s be clear: Floyd allots more weight to fun and flair, to balance the scale. Because to him, fun isn’t merely important—it's essential. A foundational pillar of Floydian philosophy.

Now, given its importance, let’s focus on that—good old-fashioned fun! And Floyd, in all his formidable fervency, knew exactly how to have it—and exactly how to lead her back to it. Being the astute flamingo that he was, he’d taken careful note of the things that made her eyes light up when she spoke of her journey: remote villages, hidden ruins, abandoned castles, mystical forests, magical creatures, untold stories and uncovered treasures. And just like that, he hatched a plan—to lead her into those mystical and magical places with exhilarating, one-of-a-kind experiences that would light up her soul and unveil the richest, most radiant feelings within her. And naturally, to further fuel the fun factor, he would sprinkle the journey with fascinating fun facts and fanciful fables—insightful, whimsical, and sometimes.

So off we went—into the wilds of wonder, wandering through mystical landscapes, chasing stories guarded by magical creatures and seeking treasures enshrined deep within hidden and long-forgotten lands. And instantly, my childlike sense of awe was rekindled—like a spark catching fire in my soul. I felt as though I was stepping through a portal, transported back to my childhood days and childhood ways—where magic and enchantment filled the air, and every day revolved around one simple, joyful pursuit: having fun.

These places welcomed me with open arms—offering what felt like a personalized invitation to explore. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a warm-hearted crew of magical creatures bearing welcome gifts: stories laden with unsolved riddles and clever clues, as if they'd been waiting just for me. And soon after I arrived, the skies suddenly cleared, giving the sun room to shine brightly—revealing ancient ruins glistening in the distance, almost as if they were summoning me. So, with that warmest of welcomes, I began to wonder: were these the very places that had been calling to me all along? Whispering to me as a child, sending gentle nudges through the years, and arriving at my doorstep with one destructive push that set me free to find them.

Now, Floyd also had a few fanciful flamingo methods for finding these places—though, as I was beginning to realize, perhaps they were finding us first. Even so, we turned to Floyd’s list of top travel tips, passed down from his most trusted feathery friends. The first came from one of the most seasoned explorers, renowned for uncovering the most magical and mysterious destinations. These were creatures featured in countless legends and tales, known by a nickname steeped in ancient wisdom—and yes, we’re talking about none other than the enigmatic owls, of course, also known as the Guardians of Sacred Knowledge. And lucky for us, they shared some of that knowledge with Floyd and I, entrusting us with the whereabouts of two extraordinary places filled with unusual tales.

(That’s the perk of having a flamingo friend—he’s got ties to the inner bird circle, complete with a variety of high-flying affiliate bird buddies.)

The first was of an enchanted land that seemed as though it had been lifted from the pages of a fairy tale: rolling granite hills draped in dense, emerald-green vegetation, with mysterious ruins and secret gardens slumbering beneath the canopy, where ancient castles stood surrounded by misty forests and lingering legends. A land so otherworldly, it felt summoned from a dream. “This is the place where the timeless tales of the Knights Templar—and their buried treasures—have withstood for centuries,” Floyd said, his voice low with reverence. “Their stories are etched into the weathered stonework of castles and chapels, their footsteps imprinted in the lush landscape.” And he went on to tell the esoteric, shadowed tales—the ones the owls had whispered to him beneath moonlit branches, now passed on to me. Tales of a cryptic map carved into intricate stonework, its arcane symbols said to guide those with the knowledge and wisdom to decode them… to a treasure long buried, awaiting it's skilled treasure hunter.

The second, a secluded mountain village, appearing to tuck itself and its secrets away in a lush valley, surrounded by rugged peaks, towering cliffs, and hidden waterfalls, passageways, and tunnels. There, among camouflaged pyramids barely peeking from the landscape, a mystical hilltop temple—steeped in stories—rose above it all, an awe-inspiring scene seemingly conjured from the depths of a great imagination. “This is sacred land,” Floyd said, his wide, gleaming eyes catching the shimmer of something just beyond sight. “Stories still echo through this mystical village—tales of the Aztecs, an ancient civilization believed to have hidden gold and sacred relics throughout the valley and the hills beyond. And of a guardian spirit, cloaked in legend, who once watched over this land and left behind a blessing that endures.” He recounted the legends proudly told by the locals—tales passed down like glowing embers, carefully tended in the hearts of villagers and offered to wandering souls who paused to listen. But then Floyd’s voice dropped to a whisper, his gaze turning inward, as if looking into that place just beyond my sight. “There are other stories too,” he whispered. “Tales kept close—shared only by elders with those who’ve earned their trust. Coveted narratives of strange happenings... of the land itself stirring beneath the feet of certain seekers, revealing hidden passages, primordial caves, ancient stone doors, and long-buried truths—seen only by those to whom the land chooses to reveal them.”

I was entranced by the unusual phenomena surrounding the sacred village and asked Floyd if he might lead me to more. He smiled knowingly and promised to guide me to an enchanted place where his feathery companions—the golden eagles with vision as sharp as prophecy—loved to linger. There, invisible currents electrified the air, sending a thrilling charge through their wings and drawing them into an endless, ecstatic dance around the mountaintop’s perimeter. Then Floyd spoke of another bewitching haven, where his spirited, furry friends—the ever-playful otters—loved to dive and spiral through water that felt different. Here, they sensed a shift: the river turned strangely soft, silky and fluid as moonlight, allowing them to glide through its depths with a grace that verged on the otherworldly.

In those enchanted places, we spoke with the soaring eagles as they touched down on wind-swept peaks—summits we had reached with a grace that felt almost assisted. We swam alongside the playful otters, gliding through silver-bright waters with movements as effortless as theirs. And at one summit, an eagle recognized Floyd from a previous visit to the swamp. And one day in the river, a curious, bright-eyed otter paused mid-swim, recognizing the stories he had heard from companions upstream—realizing, in that shimmering moment, that he was now swimming beside Floyd the Fabulous. And those moments of connection unlocked something special. The animals began entrusting us with their insider knowledge, guiding us along secret trails, hidden passageways, and extensions of forest tunnels and mountain passes—paths that seemed to unfold before us, leading to long-forgotten sacred sites, the very resting places of Knights Templar treasure and Aztec gold. At the mountaintop, the eagle—with its extraordinary vision—guided the way to a path that seemed to appear as we walked it. And down at the river, the otter jumped with joy, following the current as it carried us forward along the course, pointing out the butterflies along the way.

(That’s the perk of having a "celebrity" flamingo friend—he's privy to secret locations above the mountain and beneath the meadow, where things tend to flow fabulously.

he’s got ties to the entire animal kingdom,, complete with a variety of high-rolling associate animal pals, that know just where to go to coast through life.

rich with rich thermal current and favourable water current.

They had planted a seed

seasoned, naturally, with a splash of flamingo storytelling flair and just a touch of dramatic wing-flapping, for effect.

Places so otherworldly, places that felt like another realm,

And when she arrived, those places didn’t scold her for staying away. They opened their arms wide, beaming with joy, as if to say, “Welcome back.”

And these places felt just like the ones had once visited in solo journey.

reminding her of how vast, ancient, and brimming with mystery the world truly is. .

The places that felt as if they had been waiting for her to continue their story, as though she were an essential piece of their unfolding puzzle and grand tale—and them a part of hers.

Here, she felt as if she had stepped through a portal into another realm—where magic and enchantment wove their spell, where anything and everything felt possible, and where each day held the promise of adventure and joy. The places that felt as if they had been waiting for her to continue their story, as though she were an essential piece of their unfolding puzzle and grand tale—and them a part of hers.

Reminding her that life could be lived like this each and everyday and it didn't need to be reserved for special occassions, because each fresh new day was a reason to celebrate.

effortlessly weaving exciting adventures and captivating tales.

He could help the girl become those things so that she would never second guess herself and her lose her way again.

. Some places had gifted her breathtaking sights and unforgettable experiences, while others had offered her the chance to reflect, learn, and grow. Every place leaving its mark, shaping her and the way she would journey forward.

fruitful flamingo features,

balance—how to prioritize the trails less travelled, seeking out the hidden wonders of the world while also embracing the lively pulse of the bustling city—its iconic landmarks and beaten paths—whenever her journey led her there. And-how to plan efficiently—without rigidity or excess. intuition, leaving room for spaontaneity

Intuition—as a powerful tool for navigation and safety, keeping her focused and directed, cautious and aware, yet never controlled by fear.

His stories taught her the importance of flair, embracing her gifts, and celebrating her individuality and authenticity—just as he did.

As their journey unfolded and the girl grew wiser, Floyd taught her not only how to navigate paths leading to exciting places but also how to navigate the thoughts and intentions that shaped her journey and guided her forward. With each experience, her wisdom expanded and her confidence deepened. She was now truly understanding—not just how to trust herself, her path, and the universe, but the profound value of knowing that it always had her back. Now, with the groundwork laid and her foundation strong, Floyd could focus on bringing even more good old frolicsome fun—leading her straight into a world of wonder, where every moment awakened the senses, stirred the soul, and ignited her passions and dreams, drawing her ever closer to living them fully.

reminding her of how vast, ancient, and brimming with mystery the world truly is. These were the places that welcomed her into their story, luring her in with unsolved riddles and hidden treasures.

where anything and everything felt possible, and where each day held the promise of adventure and joy. . The places that felt as if they had been waiting for her to continue their story, as though she were an essential piece of their unfolding puzzle and grand tale—and them a part of hers.

Before long, her feet were firmly planted on her path, and she found it with ease. Her days became one grand evolving adventure—exploring ancient caves and ruins adorned with prehistoric carvings and inscriptions, wandering through abandoned castles and forgotten strongholds, tracing hidden passageways and staircases in lost temples decorated with ornate pillars, and standing before hollowed shrines steeped in mystery. She found herself once again in the embrace of nature’s breathtaking wonders, where every journey held magic. She hiked steep ridges and misty peaks, biked alongside rugged coastlines and pristine, white-sand beaches, and paddled through misty lakes and enchanted rivers—seeking out the forgotten islands and remote lands that safeguarded these special places, waiting to reveal their secrets.

As we journeyed along these off-the-map paths, Floyd spun stories of our adventures—like a secret lantern in his satchel, lighting the way even brighter. So, there I was, following the furry and feathery friends of flamingo, followed by a fable-forging flamingo, into sacred spaces filled with timeless treasures.

And now, doesn’t that make for one heck of a tale for me to tell?

Tune Into Yours

"Flamingos do speak but only to those that know how to Listen"

A Listener