About -

From Small-Town Dreamer to Wandering Woman with a Carry-On

Hi, I’m Cassie — the voice behind The Atlas of Cassie — and if you’ve ever wondered how a small-town kid from South Dakota ended up gallivanting around the globe armed with a backpack, a questionable sense of direction, and a habit of oversharing on the internet… well, buckle up, buttercup.

This is the story of how I went from thinking the Mall of America was basically Paris, to collecting passport stamps and weird snacks like they’re Pokémon cards.

Once Upon a Time in South Dakota…

I was born in South Dakota, which is known for Mount Rushmore, wide-open fields, and a wind so strong it can slap the soul out of you. I grew up in a tiny town in the 90s — the kind of place where your neighbors know your business before you do and where the local gossip spreads faster than dial-up internet ever could.

Growing up, my family was firmly planted in the “lower middle class” category. We weren’t poor, but we also weren’t flying off to exotic destinations. Vacation meant one of two things:

Driving to Canada, because apparently nothing says “family bonding” like sitting silently in a van for ten hours while your brother elbows you. Also your dad asks if you want to take the scenic route and you have no idea what that is but it sounded fun until there wasn’t a bathroom available for miles and you REALLY had to go!
The Mall of America — which, as a child, I thought was the height of sophistication. I mean, it had a roller coaster inside. To 10-year-old me, that was basically Disneyland, Milan Fashion Week, and Times Square all rolled into one.

Don’t get me wrong — I had an amazing family and a happy childhood, but I always felt this tug, this whisper in my chest saying, “There’s more out there.” Like somewhere, beyond the cornfields and Dairy Queen parking lots, there was a whole big glittery world waiting to be discovered… and possibly photographed with me doing a dramatic hair flip in front of it.

The College Years (a.k.a. The Detour Era)

As a kid, I thought I wanted to be a teacher. Teachers were the brave souls who managed to survive 25 screaming children while simultaneously knowing all the state capitals — and I thought, “Yeah, that’s the kind of hero I want to be.”

But as I got older, the plan wobbled. I was always really good at writing — I could whip up an essay faster than a microwave dinner — but no one exactly hands you a career labeled “Professional Over-Sharer.” So after high school, I did what many confused 18-year-olds do: absolutely nothing.

I took a year off to “find myself.” Spoiler: I mostly found Netflix.

Eventually, I decided to give college a shot and enrolled at the University of North Dakota. I packed my questionable fashion choices and even more questionable life skills and dove into the whole “college experience.” By which I mean… I partied. A lot.

I majored in “Poor Decisions” with a minor in “Why Am I Like This?”

Academically, the only thing I excelled at was English composition. I got an A+ in it, which I like to mention casually at parties, right before I spill wine on myself. Everything else was a blur of ramen noodles, student debt, and trying to figure out why laundry is so hard.

After one semester, I realized I was wasting money to be stressed and hungover. So I transferred back to a tech school in my hometown and tried graphic design, thinking maybe I’d be the next big creative genius. Plot twist: I hated it. My “cutting-edge designs” looked like clip art with commitment issues.

So, I dropped out. Again. A college dropout at 20, armed with nothing but sarcasm and a growing collection of hoodies.

The Mile-High Epiphany

Around that same time, I took my very first flight. At 21 years old, I boarded a plane for the first time — wide-eyed, clutching my boarding pass like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Something inside me shifted that day. The moment those wheels left the ground, it felt like possibility itself was lifting off with me.

Within three months, I applied on a whim to be a flight attendant. Somehow, they hired me. I traded in textbooks for a beverage cart, learned how to smile through turbulence (both literal and metaphorical), and joined the glamorous world of regional airlines.

That job changed my entire life.

For 14 years, I soared. I lived in Texas for seven of those years, slinging Diet Cokes at 30,000 feet, perfecting my “please sit down” eyebrow raise, and memorizing every airport terminal cinnamon roll stand in America. I saw new places, met incredible people, and became the kind of person who can fall asleep anywhere — a chair, a gate floor, probably a moving baggage carousel if necessary.

But as much as I loved it, the industry slowly burned me out. My soul was tired, my knees were older than my birth certificate claimed, and I realized I wanted something more grounded. Literally.

Enter: Nurse Cassie

I decided to switch gears completely and go back to school to become a nurse. The reason is a long and heavy story involving a 4-year-old who changed my life — but just know that tiny human lit a fire in me I couldn’t ignore.

Going back to school as an adult while working full time was… let’s just say I cried into a lot of microwaved mac and cheese. I worked two jobs and studied like my life depended on it (because my GPA definitely did). But after years of sleepless nights and caffeine binges that could qualify as Olympic sport, I earned my RN license.

And once again, I felt that familiar pull to leave South Dakota behind. So, after sampling much of the U.S. during my flight attendant days, I settled on Nashville, Tennessee. Music City. Hot chicken. More bachelorette parties than oxygen. I’ve been here six years, working in oncology and now in a nursing education role — which means I get to teach new nurses how to survive the chaos without crying in the supply closet. (At least not daily.)

It’s rewarding, it’s exhausting, and sometimes it makes me question everything… which is how I know it’s nursing.

Why I Started This Blog (and Why You Should Stick Around)

Even though I’ve got a stable life now, that restless itch never went away. I still crave adventure, culture, and that feeling of seeing something for the first time that makes your heart skip like a scratched CD (90s kids, you know the sound).

Over the years, friends, family, coworkers — even strangers in grocery lines — kept asking for my travel tips and stories. I’d get the same questions over and over:

“Where should I stay in Iceland?”
“What’s your best carry-on packing trick?”
“How do you not get lost constantly?”

(The answer to that last one is: I do get lost constantly, I just make it look intentional.)

Eventually, I realized I was retelling the same advice so often it felt like I was trapped in a one-woman travel-themed Groundhog Day. And then it hit me… what if I just wrote it all down?

I’ve always loved writing. I’ve always loved making people laugh. And I work with oncology patients — some of the bravest people on Earth — who’ve taught me how important it is to find joy, even on hard days. Humor is how I cope, how I connect, and how I survive this wild ride called life.

So, The Atlas of Cassie was born — part travel diary, part survival guide, part chaotic comedy show. I want this blog to be a place where you can…

Live vicariously through my adventures (without the jet lag).
Laugh at my inevitable travel fails (because there are many).
Learn a few tips and tricks I’ve picked up while wandering the world with a carry-on, an overpacked heart, and underpacked patience.

What You Can Expect Here

If you stick around (please do — I get lonely), you’ll find:

Ridiculously honest travel stories. The kind that don’t just show the Instagrammable moments but also the part where I accidentally ordered raw whale blubber thinking it was cheese. I mean.. I didn’t really do that but you get the idea.
Packing hacks that actually work. I was a flight attendant for over a decade — if it fits in a carry-on, I can Tetris it.
Destination guides with a twist. I’ll tell you what’s worth it, what’s overrated, and where to find the best snacks — because snacks are my love language.
Humor, sarcasm, and occasional chaos. Because if you can’t laugh when your luggage gets lost in Luxembourg, what’s the point?

In Conclusion: Please Join the Chaos

I may have grown up thinking the Mall of America was the pinnacle of travel, but now I know the world is a big, messy, beautiful place — and I want to see all of it (and maybe trip over half of it).

So welcome to my blog: where small-town roots meet big dreams, where every mistake becomes a funny story, and where you’re always invited to come along — no boarding pass required.

If you love travel, laughter, culture, snacks, or just need a break from your daily grind, you’re in the right place.

Thanks for being here — now let’s go get lost together. ✈️

Love,
Cassie
(Former flight attendant, current nurse, eternal wanderer, and professional over-packer)