With my camera stolen, I can’t share photos from my new favorite haunt in Seattle – but what I do have is a sketch from Shi Shi Beach in Olympic National Park, where I spent the weekend camping and falling in love with its misty, tree-lined shores.
It’s as we’re all circling up in the ICU waiting room that my answer comes: Even when I’m not a traveler, I am still a daughter, a sister, a niece, a cousin, and – this one being especially true today – a granddaughter.
![Live boldly: On [not] doing that thing you most want to do.](https://www.candaceroserardon.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/IMG_2775.jpg "Live boldly: On [not] doing that thing you most want to do.")
Two weeks ago I found myself strapped to my desk, horrified that I’d waited until the last minute for something so important. Everything, it seemed, kept getting in my way – and yet the biggest thing determined to stop me was myself.
As grateful as I am for experiences like walking the Camino across Spain, there have been other trips I’m not quite so proud of – trips on which I didn’t work hard enough to engage with where I was.
Words and photos only tell so much – I love that this video captures sounds, too: the crunch of our boots on the path, the ever-present din of cowbells, and the cheers and claps that often erupt in front of the cathedral in Santiago.
Every now and then you meet someone whose friendship not only proves the test of time, but of distance, too. Today I want you to meet Micaela, one such friend whose questions before her first solo trip inspired this new blog series.
McCurry’s post was not only beautiful and timely, but humbling – a reminder that waiting is a part of our humanity. A reminder that there are millions of people waiting for things far more pressing than a reply from an agent.
It’s been a few months now since I hung up my hiking shoes for the last time, but I was reminded of my questions about what it means to be a pilgrim again this morning after reading a powerful commencement speech by Nipun Mehta.
In my mind, this trip to Åre was closing out a chapter—and to find it ending in the same country where it began nearly four years ago, with the same exact meal, was a fitting kind of symmetry to the literary geek in me.
Is it an accident these things happen so close to a big life decision? It’s almost as if the universe finds out and decides to organize a little experiment: to see if we go running at the first sign of disaster.