new life.

From Oregon to Georgia.
Pacific ocean to the Atlantic, crossing over the mighty Mississippi.
Steelhead salmon to them channel Catfish.


A lot.

It feels a bit odd to be moving around so much. I realize the luxury in getting to do so. I have also been blown away by the hospitality — the people wanting me to move into their cities — don’t they know how much of a goober I am? I should really warn those people.

There has been a theme, throughout this little ride.

Daffodils blooming. Escaping the snow by a day or two. Green pastures and conversation of change.
New babies. New love.


New life.


That is what I see. In the midst of the mud and murk, I emerge like that catfish, mouth agape, feeling the sunshine beam upon my whiskery face.

I realize, that what I am seeing as I pass through states, and after I leave one place for another, are pockets of new life. All of the time, they are being remade. Whether that is a baby or a marriage or a job. I see it all bursting through the ground like them daffodils after the long, cold dark of winter.

I see Justin planting his garden behind his Tennessee home, while watching L jump on the trampoline yelling, “Okay, watch this!” And I can see both of L’s parents, smiling and admiring all of the little things they have growing. More so, L’s parents inspire me to keep moving and loving. (And that when a kid needs to dance, you just gotta let him dance…)

Abbye and Jeff playing hide and seek with their neighbor’s kids, and embracing their city and neighborhood as though they have already decided on something big. I love seeing people go all in on a place.

I see my cousin behind the bar, smiling, sharing with us something he has extreme passion for — and the relationships he’s made. I’m proud of him, but not in the way people say when someone has just started to get their stuff together. I’ve always been proud of him. I’ve missed his friendship, and I’m excited to be closer to my family.

To SJ, my sister asking hard questions and seeing beauty and wonder in all the small things.

So now, I sit at my dad’s desk, writing with the sun at my back.

I think about the Beloved community. How good everyone has been to me this past month. Giving me their beds, paying for my drinks and my food. They’ve showed me their cities and have allowed me to meet their own little communities. Usually I am exhausted by all the hustle and bustle, but I have been so lucky to meet and share a table with so many this month. It further reinforces all those big things I keep in my heart.

Because given the opportunity, I would give these people whatever they needed, whenever. The gratitude of taking in a weary traveler has always been something close to my heart.
So, I sit back and imagine what’s next.

And I feel okay. I feel loved.

I see life, and I see it moving on.

From one place to another, life being made new.


Yeah, I think it’s gonna be okay.



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