Rich beyond measure

I've imagined for years what it would be like to have free weekends and places to explore at the same time. I've wondered if I could get up in the morning Monday through Thursday and write or read or publish or edit, then spend Friday, Saturday, Sunday in the car with mountains in view. I've wondered if a world exists where I can do all of this and live in an apartment with a bedroom that has a door and closets that hold all the piles we used to throw on the floor for lack of alternative option.

Let me just say we've hit the jackpot here in Pullman. We are rich beyond measure in experience, passion, inspiration, work, and square footage. We are, without a doubt, living the dream.

In the last month, we've driven to Oregon three times. We have family a little south of Portland – family we never before spent a lot of time with because they lived across the country from us. Now they're a breezy 7-hour drive, part of which includes a view of Mt. Hood over the Columbia River. 

On one of those trips to Oregon, we climbed Mt. Hood. We started at midnight so we could see the sunrise at the top. This was my first technical mountain climb, which means it involved snow travel. We bought mountaineer gear a few years ago but the trip we planned was canceled. If you can't tell from the photo, I was seriously pumped. And seriously tired. I should coin a word that means both of those things at the same time.

Three cheers for work space! This is our second bedroom – a.k.a. the gear room / bike room / office. And all those boxes are books that are sad and neglected because we don't have bookshelves yet. Soon, my loves. Soon.

White-space adventuring

Life is quiet right now. Quiet, not silent. I wake up remembering the fog that settled between the mountains on our drive through Missoula, Montana, aching for the views and the sky and the rock from the summer. I've devoured countless books since we've returned - fiction and nonfiction - as I use up excess time in my day and meditate on what it means to tell good, true stories. What does it mean to soak up life so that along the way - not just in the end - there are beautiful, dangerous, inspiring stories to tell? I'm taking lessons from the white space of our summer.

Remember the days after the biggest adventure of your life.
The day we got off the John Muir Trail was a blur of trail-friends catching buses, finding lodging, eating, and sleeping. The days that followed were filled with friends who gave generously of their time, gas money, and pantry contents. I didn't take a single picture in Redding, California because I was too dang tired, but our good friends Seth (pictured) and his sister Hannah are champions. He flew to Minnesota for our wedding; he and Hannah drove 10 hours to pick us up at Mt. Whitney only to turn around and drive 10 hours back. On Hannah's birthday. With endless enthusiasm. They listened to our stories, sympathized with our limps, let us lounge, and introduced us to one of our new favorite comedies.

Admire people who, in essence, live the way you want to live. 
Take our brother and sister, Aaron and Lisa. They live in a dream-like treehouse on the Oregon coast, nestled in the the trees half a mile from the ocean. For the week we were there, we felt so free. And that's the way they live, it seems. Active, engaged, laughter-filled.

Turn oddly normal things into oddly big deals

Still in Oregon... why not cut Ben's hair on the deck facing the ocean before grilling homemade pizza while listening to a jazz singer we've never heard of?

Choose memory-making activities over mind-numbing habits

After Oregon, we visited my parents in North Dakota. They had been wanting to try kayaking, so we ventured out onto the Missouri river instead of planning our usual movie marathon. Of course we still watched movies and we ate good food, but we also made this great memory that involved several hours out in the sun.

From big adventure to quiet afternoon of hand fishing, this is how we want life to look.