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A Scotland Blog

My Scottish Story: Why I Keep Going Back

It all began in an unusual place: a funeral.

I know that sounds morbid, but hear me out. Sometimes the most transformative journeys start in places of grief — places where the past, present, and future collide in unexpected ways.

My mom, Margaret Ross, was born and raised in Glasgow, Scotland. She made a life in Texas, where I grew up, far from the grey skies of her homeland. And while she occasionally spoke about “home” with affection, it was always through her eyes. Her siblings — my aunts and uncles — were names in holiday cards and voices on long-distance calls, filtered through her stories. I never really knew them.

When she passed away suddenly in a car accident, it was a heartbreak that sent ripples far and wide. Her brothers and sisters flew across the ocean to attend the funeral. Amid the grief and shock of that day, something happened that would quietly change the course of my life.

As they prepared to leave Texas, one of my aunts pulled me aside. With tears in her eyes, she said words I’ll never forget:
“Please don’t forget about us.”

That sentence became a compass point for me. I realized I had an entire family, an entire history, across the Atlantic — one I barely knew. And in that moment, I made a quiet vow to bridge the gap.

From Texas to Glasgow (and Back Again)

That vow has led me on a 25-year journey — not just of travel, but of connection, heritage, and healing.

I began visiting Glasgow regularly, at first just to spend time with my relatives. I expected polite meals, maybe some sightseeing, and the occasional awkward pause. What I got instead was something much richer: late-night kitchen table chats, tearful stories about my mom as a child, inside jokes I slowly learned to understand, and a growing sense that I belonged.

Over the years, the relationship became reciprocal. My Scottish family visited me in Texas, and I loved being their tour guide through the Lone Star State. I showed them around Fort Worth Stockyard’s, San Antonio’s River Walk, the wide-open Texas skies, and the unique charm of my everyday world. They learned to eat Tex-Mex; I learned to love a proper Scottish breakfast.

We didn’t just become “family in touch.” We became friends. Real ones. The kind who message each other “just because”. The kind who cheer for your wins and reach out in your losses. Our lives have become threaded together, in small but meaningful ways.

Falling in Love with a Land and Its People

The more I traveled to Scotland, the more I realized it wasn’t just my family I was falling in love with — it was the place. There’s something about Scotland that feels like coming home. Maybe it’s genetic memory. Maybe it’s just the magic of the Highlands, the hum of Glasgow’s music scene, or the way strangers greet you like friends.

Over time, my visits became more than family trips. I started exploring the town my mom knew as home. I developed a deep affection for Scotland. Its rich history, stunning architecture, and the warmth of belonging make everyone feel welcome, even if they don’t have roots there.

This love, rooted in both heritage and experience, led me to apply for British citizenship through ancestry. I now proudly hold dual citizenship — a reflection of the duality in my identity: both Texan and Scottish. Both homegrown and homeland-bound.

Why I Keep Going Back

People often ask me why I return to Scotland so often — why I keep investing time, energy, and heart into a place that isn’t technically where I was raised. But the answer is simple:

Because it’s not just a destination. It’s part of who I am.

Scotland has given me more than beautiful photos and passport stamps. It has given me roots when I felt rootless. It’s given me a fuller picture of my mother — not just the woman I knew, but the girl she once was. And it’s given me a wider family I treasure deeply.

It’s also changed how I travel. I no longer chase checklists or rush from place to place. Now, I travel to connect. To pause. To sit still in a cozy café with a hot cup of tea and just listen to the rhythm of life around me. Scotland taught me that.

A New Chapter

In many ways, this journey has come full circle. From a funeral in Texas to a new life with one foot planted in Scottish soil, I’ve come to see that grief can be a door. Loss can be an invitation.

Today, I travel to Scotland not just to remember my mom, but to honor the life she came from — and the life I’ve built because of her.

So no, I haven’t forgotten about them. And I never will.

And if you’re reading this wondering whether a place — or a people — could change you too… my answer is: yes, they can.