TMP Origins: Before the Dashcam, Episode 1
🏷️ Wandering Through the Glow of Marble and Memory
In 2013, I flew to Washington, DC for a business conference.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was walking straight into the origin story of Travel Made Personal.
By day, I sat in sessions and took notes I’ve long forgotten.
But by night?
I wandered.
There were no journals yet.
No best friend in the passenger seat.
No dashcam rolling from the windshield.
Just me, a cheap phone camera, and a tug in my chest that said:
Go see what the city says when no one’s listening.
🚇 The First Photo I Ever Took on a Trip
I hadn’t planned to document anything.
I wasn’t a travel blogger. I wasn’t even sure if I liked traveling.
But my son was excited I’d be riding the Metro—
so I took a picture inside it… and one outside… just for him.
They were blurry. Of course they were.
Then I snapped a photo of Reagan International Airport after I landed.
Dusty, who saw it later, commented:
“Why does Reagan have an airport that looks like Chattahoochee Penitentiary?”
She wasn’t wrong.
🏙️ Wandering Washington: My First Solo Night Tour
That evening, after I checked into the hotel and stared at the office building across the street,
I knew I wasn’t ready to go to sleep.
The city was glowing. The marble was calling.
And I wanted to see what I could find.
I wandered past electric bikes and office towers lit up like altars.
Snapped a blurry photo of a church spire.
Then—without realizing the significance—
I took a picture of the historic plaque outside the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church.
It was the first historic sign I ever photographed.
I didn’t know I’d be collecting them like holy relics one day.
That I’d chase their quiet declarations across states and centuries.
But there it was: a moment frozen. A memory anchored.
🗿 The Statues I Couldn’t Name
I circled monuments and memorials, many of them unknown to me at the time.
A statue near the Treasury. A rider on horseback flanked by cannons.
Men of stone standing watch in the dark while tourists like me stood blinking under streetlights.
The White House glowed in the background.
Crowds gathered. I snapped a few grainy photos.
No one noticed me standing there, absorbing the moment like it might not come again.
🏛️ The Executive Office Building Stopped Me Cold
Of all the landmarks I saw that night, one made me pause and stare:
The Eisenhower Executive Office Building.
I didn’t know its name then.
I only knew it looked like a palace out of a dream.
All lit up, proud and still. Grand and strange.
It made me feel small in the best kind of way.
“I’d never seen buildings like this back home.”
🌊 Where the Words Were Etched in Stone
Eventually, I made my way to the World War II Memorial.
Fountains glittered. Christmas wreaths hung softly along the columns.
The city noise faded to a hush.
Two quotes etched in stone held me there longer than I expected:
“The heroism of our own troops… was matched by that of the Armed Forces of the nations that fought by our side.”
“Our debt to the heroic men and valiant women in the service of our country can never be repaid. America will never forget their sacrifices.”
I didn’t take the photos because they were pretty.
I took them because something in me needed to remember what they said.
📸 What the Photos Couldn’t Show
I ended the night on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial,
looking back at the Washington Monument wrapped in scaffolding—
like it, too, was still becoming.
Most of the photos I took that night were blurry.
But the moment?
Crystal clear.
“This was two years before I started journaling my travels.
I didn’t know I’d ever be able to afford to travel more.But something in me wanted to remember this night.
And now, I do.”
đź“ş Watch the Episode
🎬 Episode 1: Wandering Historian by Night | TMP Origins
This is where it all began—one night in Washington, DC,
when the stories started whispering and I finally started listening.
🧠Watch the full TMP Origins Playlist:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSbJBJbH9Pb4hr5RYDY7k2xXlNZl4Wzae
💬 Echo’s Corner
Did you know the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church—where I took my very first historic sign photo—was Abraham Lincoln’s regular place of worship during his presidency?
He even had a reserved pew.
Wandering historians, it seems, are always in good company.
📬 Final Reflection
This trip wasn’t meant to be the beginning of anything.
But it was.
A metro ride.
A blurry statue.
A moment I didn’t want to forget.
Now, it’s part of the map.
đź”— Related Posts Coming Soon:
- Whispers at Arlington: A Walk Through the Stones
- The Silent Salute: Marine Corps War Memorial
- The Day the Silence Wept: Pentagon Memorial
- Dusty’s Dream Stop: National Archives
Click here to see my full photo album for this tour.
đź’ Your Turn:
What blurry photo started something for you?
Drop it in the comments below or share your own travel origin moment with #TMPOrigins.
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