Before planning any trip, my dad and I have a one-on-one call to discuss his needs. We always start with two questions: what does he most want to see, and what can we do to help him experience it comfortably?

When we planned a trip to Egypt and Jordan, for example, that first call shaped everything. He shared that visiting the pyramids, taking a Nile River cruise, and exploring Petra were his must-do activities for the trip.

Given his pace and mobility, my dad said he wanted to prioritize private transportation to accommodate any breaks he may need while out on excursions. So, we booked our own air-conditioned van with a dedicated driver and guide.

Once we arrived at each destination, everyone was free to explore at their own pace. But if my dad finished early or wanted to head back sooner, the van was always there waiting.

Even though my dad is 83, I sometimes have to remind myself that he has decades of travel experience and knows his body better than I do.

When we were exploring Petra in Jordan, with its long, uneven walks and steep climbs, my instinct was to manage him, to limit his options, and to steer him toward the easier path.

As we walked, donkey handlers kept approaching us, offering my dad a ride. I found myself continuously asking if he was OK.

Eventually, he looked at me and said, “I’ll tell you if I need help.” That was my cue to back off.

I’ve learned that treating an older parent like a child minimizes a lifetime of self-knowledge. My job isn’t to control my dad’s experience. It’s to trust him to know what he needs.

Even though seeing new places around the world is a surreal experience, I’ve learned that the greatest takeaways from these adventures are the memories unfolding before me.

When we were on a boat excursion to the edge of a glacier in Greenland, my favorite moment during the adventure had nothing to do with the scenery, but everything to do with my dad’s chuckling.

A 93-year-old British woman on the boat struck up a conversation with my dad and, at one point, called him a “spring chicken.”

He laughed harder than I’d seen him laugh all trip — an 83-year-old being teased by someone a decade his senior.

If I’d been focused on the ice closing in around us, or scanning the horizon for bigger views, I would have missed the moment. That conversation has stayed with me far longer than the glacier itself.

Some of my favorite photos from our trips aren’t of glaciers, pyramids, or sand dunes. They’re of my dad walking ahead of me with his hiking poles.

To most people, the poles might look like a sign of age. To me, they represent something else entirely: his fight to maintain his mobility.

While hiking Jebel Jais, the highest peak in the United Arab Emirates, I took a photo of him from behind as he made his way toward the edge of a cliff.

I have versions of that hiking-pole photo from every trip. My dad in Greenland, in Egypt, in the UAE — always with his poles, always still going.

Years from now, the views will live in someone else’s photos. My dad’s tenacity, however, will live only in me.

Although his 84th birthday is just five months away, my dad’s bucket list keeps growing — and we’re all still along for the ride.

This December, we’re heading to Antarctica together. Truly, I am terrified.

Crossing the Drake Passage — a 600-mile body of water that is considered to have the roughest sea conditions in the world — isn’t a trip I’d have considered without him as my inspiration.

We plan to keep doing this for as long as my dad wants to lead. Right now, that means planning strategically and front-loading the hardest trips while he still has the stamina and physical ability to do them. Discussions are already underway about visiting China and Nepal next year.

The goal isn’t to see everything. It’s to be fully present while we still can and to keep following my dad’s lead while he’s still leading.