This year, I turned 55. And with that number came a realization that stopped me in my tracks: it's the first year I will be older than Laura.
Not Laura Ingalls Wilder — though she shaped my childhood imagination — but my dear friend Laura, whose spirit continues to shape my present. Laura, who inspired Books That Travel the World. Laura, whose curiosity, generosity, and belief in connection started something that continues to ripple outward, even now.
Books that travel. Books that carry stories across borders and into hands that need them. Books that are passed on, like torches — sometimes deliberately, sometimes by chance. What began as a simple idea between two friends turned into something much bigger than us.
And here I am at 55, older now than Laura will ever be — and somehow still trying to catch up to the size of her heart.
Every time a book is left behind in a café, or gifted in a hostel, or sent in a package across the ocean — with a name, a note, a sense of being part of something — I feel her. I remember her laugh, her warmth, and her certainty that stories matter. That we matter to each other.
Fifty-five feels less like a milestone and more like a continuation. A chance to keep doing what we started. To read widely, to live boldly, to leave something meaningful behind — even if it’s just a well-loved book with our names inside.
So here’s to Laura, and to every book that finds a new life in someone else’s hands. Here’s to being 55 and still full of stories. And here’s to the quiet, beautiful revolution of books that travel the world — and the love that sends them on their way.
