getting into the rhythm of travel

I'm getting ready to move my few possessions into a storage unit. I think this part of vagabonding is always a little odd for me--packing up my things. I'm a person that likes homes. I love spending the mornings barefoot in the kitchen, starting coffee on the stove and crawling back into bed with the snoring beast-dog. I'll be sad to put my record player away and hand my plants to caring hands for the summer. There are good things on the horizon and I'm terribly excited to travel, but it always comes with trade-offs. 

Once I start travelling, I move into the rhythm of being on the road. The car is organized, there's always climbing equipment, a camera and coffee cups on hand. Veda curls up in the passenger seat, and my folded maps are tucked into the back of the seat. Up until last fall, I didn't believe in using GPS to get somewhere. I like having to sit and read the maps, scattered with blue and red highway and interstate veins. 

I followed some of those veins down to Idaho for a couple days to see a friend of mine that creates amazing art. It's always so nice to feel at home when you arrive somewhere that's not yours. We talked about how the creative world is so competitive and how artists should encourage each other, and let go of the feeling of possession and competition. We talked about how there are two ways to live and act: with love or without love. And we tapped our boots to the deep voice of the iconic country singer, Don Williams. Well into his 70's, his voice sounds matched to his records, and it took me back to childhood, hearing my parents talk about how they danced to his songs at their wedding. It was a lovely time, tucked into the rolling Idaho hills, and I can't wait to go back. 

Shake The Dust.

Don't be afraid to shake the dust.

I've been feeling time slip so quickly lately. It's been a heaviness on my shoulders, tapping me to remind me that it's dwindling. I'm not sure how to write this post, other than to tell you that we always think we'll have more time than we do.

I guess I'm selfish in wanting it all. I want to live so fully that it fills me up to the brim, spilling photographs and conversations and experiences and words that translate that feeling.

I just want to accurately explain to you the freedom of walking in a sagebrush plain, mountain bluebirds and robins, dashing in and out of the brush.
And if I could contain the feeling of my hair blowing in the wind, I would. I could tell you about holding the whiskey bottle that's glowing blue from the fire, after we've said a 'salud' to our good fortunes of all being together while ashes dancing up the sky.

I want to tell you the deep happiness of listening to the sound of nothing but the wind in the pines and the fullness of the world away from computers and cubicles.
I've been feeling so disconnected because it's been far too long since I've seen the stars and counted the constellations.



I want to bottle up the feeling of cold hands working in the morning to get things moving, the first taste of coffee when you wake up, and how everything magically tastes better when eaten in the backcountry.









I kept saying that I'd do this soon, that I'd get out of the routine and just go. But it got put on one of those to-do lists that gathers dust on the shelf. I'm lucky that I had two friends in town this week that wrapped my soul in conversations about mountains and travels and big dreams.

The people that you should keep around are the ones that should make you feel capable.