The Problem With Modern Travel Content (And What I’m Doing Differently)

Travel used to mean something. It used to be curiosity, risk, discovery — stepping into a place you didn’t already understand. Now it feels like half the internet is just trying to convince you they’ve unlocked some secret lifestyle by pointing a camera at a cappuccino or sitting in a hotel they didn’t pay for.

Most “travel content” today is advertising. It’s a performance. It’s a curated feed of perfect meals, perfect sunsets, perfect outfits, perfect couples who somehow never get sunburned or argue over where to eat.

And that’s fine, if you want wallpaper. But that’s not the world I live in, and it’s not the world I’m trying to show my kids.

A Lionhearts Fitness athlete throws a Javelin during the Atlanta Trifecta Weekend

The real America isn’t filtered gold tones and soft music. It’s messy. It’s loud. It smells like diesel, fryer oil, fresh bread, sunscreen, and wet grass after a storm.

It’s strangers talking to you like they already know you. It’s a kid handing you cotton candy at a county fair because he doesn’t want it anymore. It’s someone telling you the best place to eat isn’t on Yelp — it’s in the back of a gas station next to an ice freezer with a broken handle.

But you don’t see any of that online.

Instead, we get 15-second clips of influencers pretending they “stumbled into” a place where the lighting just happens to be perfect. Or “epic road trip hacks” filmed in a Sprinter van that smells like Pinterest. Or the classic: “hidden gem” content made in front of a crowd of 200 people all trying to film the same hidden gem.

I’m not against anyone making a living. I’m against pretending that travel is supposed to look like a billboard.

When everything is curated, nothing is true.

That’s why Uncovering American is different.

I’m not chasing the flawless version of this country — I’m chasing the honest one. The one you find when you pull off on the wrong exit, or talk to the guy cleaning up after an event, or wander into a local diner five minutes before closing.

I want to show the places where people still build things, fix things, cook things, fly things, and take care of each other without checking if a camera is pointed at them.

I want to show my kids that adventure isn’t something manufactured for views — it’s something you walk into by accident because you were curious enough to show up.

So yes, my travel content will have scratches, noise, uneven lighting, and moments where I don’t say the perfect thing. Good. That’s how the world feels.

I’m not trying to make you jealous of my life. I’m trying to remind you that you can go find your own version of the country — and it won’t look perfect, but it’ll be real.

And honestly?

Real is better than perfect every single time.