I miss my old life...

There, I said it.  This transition back to "regular life" has proven increasingly challenging over the past couple of months, with no help whatsoever from the insufferable month of January (how can a month feel so long, and how can it rain so much).  As the distance between my old life and my new life grows, so, too, does my sense of loss.  The one thing I can say is that throughout our year of travel, I never once took that time for granted, knowing that while it felt limitless, that it was, in fact, incredibly finite and fleeting.  I always realized and appreciated the enormity of that gift.  I think I appreciate it more now, even though those thoughts bring both enduring memories and concurrent sadness and as hyperbolic as it might sound, mourning.

Watching the sun set or rise is a luxury I never take for granted

René Daumal was a French spiritualist, writer, and poet- I have never read any of his works, and only know the Wikipedia details of his life, but long ago I read a quote from his posthumously published novel, Mount Analogue, and it has stuck with me since.  It is a quote I have turned to frequently to help cope with what I'm feeling these days:
 

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.

That quote used to simply sum up my feelings about the outdoors in general.  Why go through all the sweat and pain to climb something only to come back down and go back to regular life?  Why get up at 2am to catch a sunrise at the top of a mountain?  Why stand in the frigid wind all night on the chance the northern lights might make an appearance (all the while being terrified of the dark)?  Why walk uphill on skis, in the snow, the ice for three hours, only to take a 10 minute ride down?  Why stand in a frigid river in the middle of January for hours to catch a fish and put it back in the water to swim and spawn another day, and let's be honest, some days you do that and don't catch anything?  Why do all those things?  They are temporary, they aren't lasting.  There's money to be made, educational and professional achievements to chase, letters to add behind my name and title.  Simply, I just don't value those things as I did before.  Once you experience life in the mountains, alpine lakes, rivers, snow covered peaks, those things never leave you, and they never let you down.  You will never be disappointed.  Earlier this summer, a friend and I hiked to a lookout for some up close views of Rainier, and if you've ever hiked to a lookout, you know that though usually brief, those hikes always demand a lot of up!  We got to the top and couldn't see a thing, nothing.  Pea soup, ping pong ball, whatever descriptor you want to apply, but yet, I still found plenty of satisfaction and beauty in that day.  I've stood in many a river all day and caught nothing, but I have never regretted it (okay maybe that one day when my waders leaked, and it was 27 degrees outside).  Sometimes when you don't see what you want, you see what you didn't know you need.  You go looking for one thing, but it isn't there, so it allows you to observe and appreciate the proverbial "little things."  A dew soaked evergreen, the way the dense fog rolls over the mountains, how seemingly choppy water feels smooth down deeper in the current, or just simply laughing and goofing around with those you love (which is sometimes, in reality, bonding over the suffer-fest).

There's a mountain there, I swear

Dead on look at Mt Rainier

Fog makes for crummy summit views but beautiful forests

Splitboarding isn't glamorous in the traditional sense

When else can you be the only person fishing this stretch of river?

Noticing the details

Laughing is good, laughing at others is great

So cold

Sometimes you just have to find shelter from the wind where you can eat your Little Debbie snack cake and drink your hot chocolate from a shot glass

Sometimes hiking is making the best of terrible situations (this trail was described as "a little overgrown")

My favorite thing is getting on the trail early before everyone else, though on this trail, we saw hardly anyone all day

What goes down has to come back up eventually, but at least there will be pizza

The only acceptable animal selfie- we had to detour a ways to give this big guy his space

The prior quote has since taken on new meaning after we returned from our year off.  When my daily grind is getting the best of me, I can take myself back to climbing the face of a waterfall to that secluded alpine lake in Wyoming, standing in ice cold water at nearly 12,000', catching the elusive golden trout while accumulating an impressive total of mosquito bites.  I can take myself back to watching the sun rise over the Tetons while hearing wolves howl and coyotes yip in the distance.  I can take myself back to spending nights under the stars in Montana, to breathing the thinnest air amongst a glaciated Peruvian cirque at 15,000', to snow covered larch in Canada, to otters swimming and playfully scampering along the river bank in front of me, to watching grizzlies forage along a hillside, to watching the sun rise and set in the same day and being outside for all of it.  I also have beloved memories steeped in far less grandeur- a giant piece of sheet cake from Safeway after hiking out of the backcountry, a real shower after 6 days without one, a cold beer by the fire, and a toilet that flushes (or just a toilet in general).

Watching an eagle watching us as a storm rolls in 

One of the best Teton sunrises I've ever seen

Grizzlies feeding in the early morning

Just passing through

Some places are truly unbelievable

All the makings of a great day, and we even caught a lot of fish

I love seeing these things far off the beaten path

This happened to be right on the beaten path

This was special

From right up here

Good news- we got to ascend another 600 meters!

This is our hidden gem

A camp visitor

A horse during a Wyoming golden hour

A cool summer morning and a parade of bison (taken with a very long zoom lens)

A slab of cake and some Canada milk

No better way to unwind (and keep the mosquitoes at bay)

Backcountry shower

Home truly is where your heart is

These days have hit me hard with reality recently, but I am beyond grateful for the opportunities Shaun and I have been able to take advantage of, our hard work and dedication to fulfilling our dream and transforming our lifestyle and priorities.  That continues now, and we'll do this whole grand thing again in the future, but for now, I'm content that while I can no longer see, I can at least still know.