I did not spend a lot of my youth traveling. I didn’t fly in an airplane until I was 20 (aside from a vague memory of flying to upstate New York to visit family when I was small enough to worry about having to put my baby doll on through the security scanner).
I ventured beyond the east coast for the first time last year on a trip to Colorado. I went on some Spring Break trips to South Carolina beaches and North Georgia mountains with my friends in high school, but the only vacations my family took were to visit my grandparents in Daytona Beach, Florida.
This was because of finances; after the 2008 recession, my middle-class childhood morphed into a lower-class adolescence, and we couldn’t afford expensive family vacations.
But because there was a free place to stay and the drive was only eight hours long, we went (and still go) to Daytona often, at least twice a year.
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