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Some people blend in seamlessly when they travel, soaking up cultures, cuisines and sunsets, unobtrusively. Others—sometimes unintentionally—travel and stand out. When Lisa Butler packs her bags, her invisible checklist isn’t just about passports, snacks, or car seat logistics. It’s about setting a tone. A confident posture, a ready smile, an attitude that declares I’m here louder than the stares she’s long grown used to. Travelling with a visible limb difference means you’re never anonymous—not in Toronto, not in rural Uganda, not in the thick heat of a Bolivian rainforest.
But Lisa? She doesn’t shrink from the spotlight—she transforms it. For her, it’s a form of advocacy and a learning opportunity for others, driven by a conscious purpose. She has prepared herself to be a bit comfortable with the uncomfortable.
Let’s back up a second. Picture young Lisa: quiet, observant, her hands tucked close as if hiding them could let her blend into the crowd. “I didn’t want to be noticed,” she admits, speaking of grocery stores and playgrounds that were coliseums of curiosity when she was a child. Kids stared. Adults whispered. Her brother became her fiercest defender, ready to ward off rude remarks with a scowl and a snap. And little Lisa? She kept on running—literally. Soccer, marathons, the glorious escape of putting one foot in front of the other and proving her strength. You can watch, and I’ll win.
Those formative years—learning independence, honing creative solutions and discovering her confidence shaped the way Lisa would eventually navigate adulthood, parenting and a 20-year career in public service. It’s also why the idea of sitting still, letting her world shrink around her, was never an option.
Travel wasn’t just a luxury for Lisa—it was an education.
“When I step into a new country,” Lisa explains. “I’m often the only one like me they’ve ever seen.” And by “like me,” she doesn’t just mean Canadian, or a solo traveler, or even a woman balancing independence with motherhood. She means her arms—one ending just below her elbow, the other just past her wrist—and the way she uses them seamlessly to carry her own backpack, tackle a car seat, or snap photos of curious children who look at her with innocent, wide-eyed fascination.
Her experiences across continents have been varied. In Asia, strangers rushed to help, their hands fumbling awkwardly with luggage and bus doors before Lisa could explain, I’ve got this. In Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya, stares stretched long and silent, children’s faces wide with wonder while adults hung back, guarded, skeptical. In the Caribbean, questions came bluntly—What happened to your hand? —but questions were softened with smiles and open curiosity. And everywhere, always, there’s the double-take. Lisa’s response? A practiced empathy, honed over years, “If it comes from a good place then it’s a point of engagement, it immediately breaks the ice,” she said. “People react differently. Sometimes it’s shock. Sometimes it’s pity. Sometimes it’s just natural curiosity wanting to be satisfied.”
But here’s the thing about Lisa: She sets the tone.
Her approach to travel is a lesson in how we carry ourselves. Literally and figuratively. When people notice her difference, Lisa meets them with a smile. A genuine one—not to erase discomfort, but to say, I’m here, I’m capable, and I’m living this moment fully. In return, people soften. They stop seeing her hands as something missing and start seeing Lisa—a woman who hikes through jungles in Bolivia, who paddles dark rivers alive with sounds, who walks into rural villages and becomes, for a fleeting moment, an advocate simply by existing.
And she exists boldly, exploring the world on her terms. She recalls her experience at an indigenous lodge in Bolivia—Chalalan Ecolodge.
“It was the complete opposite to home but I think that’s where I caught the travel bug,” she shared. “It was such a memorable, different experience that I knew I needed to see more of the world.”
The Bolivian rainforest felt both vast and intimate, every step an invitation into the unknown. She trekked through dense green corridors where the air buzzed with life—unseen creatures moving in the shadows, leaves whispering secrets on the breeze. At night, she drifted through the black waters of the quiet river on a canoe, the stars above bright enough to pierce the canopy, while the calls of nocturnal animals reverberated like a symphony composed just for her. With every paddle stroke, every cautious step into untamed terrain, Lisa defied assumptions—not just of others, but her own.
“It was really amazing. We spent our days hiking and spotting wildlife, while also observing our hosts’ ceremonial rituals and learning how they lived off the land. The nighttime walks to see the wildlife were especially memorable—I often tried to capture the sounds on my phone. At times, I felt like I had to pinch myself—I couldn’t believe I was there, seeing, smelling, feeling all of this.”
Travel, Lisa believes, is a two-way education.
“I’m learning about their culture, their norms, their day-to-day lives. And at the same time, they’re learning about me. That someone with a physical difference can be independent, confident, capable. That I’m not fragile, not broken, not limited.”
She recalls moments where that lesson should have been taught. A packed bus back at home in Toronto where someone with good intentions hollered at her, Come sit here! across rows of startled commuters. Lisa, tired but smiling, reluctantly made her way to the seat—accepting kindness while cringing at the volume of unwelcome spotlight. Or an airport in Vancouver, where she juggled a squirming toddler, oversized luggage, and a car seat, only to be told, Special assistance means a wheelchair. She therefore could not be accommodated.
“Accessibility needs aren’t one-size-fits-all,” Lisa says firmly. “It’s not only about ramps and wheelchairs. Sometimes it’s about someone carrying the car seat while I keep my daughter safe. Sometimes it’s just listening and being open-minded!”
She offers advice to others with disabilities who might hesitate to step outside their comfort zones: Pack light, but carry courage. Be willing to feel uncomfortable. Be open to stares, questions, even pity. Then meet it all with quiet confidence and the knowledge that you’re doing something meaningful—for yourself, for those watching and for those who will come after you.
“Travel’s not about escaping,” Lisa says, “it’s about expanding.” Expanding your world, your empathy, your tolerance for discomfort. And yes, expanding others’ understanding of what’s possible when someone like Lisa—someone with a limb difference, big ideas, and an even bigger spirit—steps onto their path.
From Ontario, to the vibrant colors of African villages and to the murky stillness of a Bolivian jungle, Lisa doesn’t just see the world. She teaches it. One smile, one stare, one unapologetic step at a time.
And in return, the world learns to see her—really see her.
Independent. Capable. Unstoppable.