by Karon -

Noticing the Small Things – My September Project

September has been a busy month. I’ve spent most of my time with my daughter and her family, with a couple of little weekend trips to some of my North Carolina favorites. It has been exhausting and wonderful all wrapped up together. And I knew it would be.

So I intentionally planned a very simple monthly project—to notice and photograph the small things. Sort of a stop and smell the roses project.

At first, I thought this would be an easy project. I already take photos all the time, so how hard could it be to notice one small thing each day?

But there was a difference between seeing something and intentionally looking for something. When I was busy, it was easy to move from one thing to the next without really paying attention. Once I started looking for that one small thing each day, I found myself slowing down.

Sometimes it was something beautiful. Sometimes it was something I would normally overlook. And sometimes it was simply a moment that I wanted to remember.

One of the first photos that came to mind when I sat down to write this was a photo of turkey tail mushrooms growing on a fallen tree.

Amy, the boys, and I had gone out one morning to the trails where they go to ride bikes. The trails run alongside the river and meander through forested areas. During my recent time in the desert, I really noticed how much I missed the smell of a forest trail, so this trail was just what I needed.

I lingered by the fallen tree and watched a little stream flow gently by. I looked at the turkey tail mushrooms and thought about how amazing the process of a decaying tree really is and how the mushrooms—a fungus—help that process. It’s not something I really ever think about. Normally, I would just walk along the path, notice the beautiful patterns on the mushrooms, take a photo, and continue on my way.

But that day, I stopped and really looked.

On my recent trip to Emerald Isle, I stopped before crossing the bridge to the island at a field of zinnias. When I lived in this area, there was usually a field of sunflowers here at the end of summer. I used to always stop to admire the flowers and take photos, so I just had to stop.

I loved the bright colors of the flowers against the Carolina blue sky. I took a close-up of a bud in front of a bright pink flower and suddenly saw the scalloped design along its edges. I couldn’t help but marvel at the intricate details of a simple bud that would soon disappear behind the colorful flower.

If I had simply driven past the field, I never would have seen it.

On my recent trip to Boone, I noticed the leaves that had fallen. I decided to take some photos. The differences in the shades of brown from one leaf to another were really very subtle, but together they created a lovely layered effect. I love autumn leaves, even when they’re brown.

On another morning with my grandsons, my four-year-old grandson found the tiniest little frog and brought it over to show me. He knows I love frogs. I’m not really a fan of toads, but green tree frogs are just the cutest. This little guy looked so tiny in his small hand. We talked about it for a bit, then set it free.

My grandson has the kindest, gentlest spirit and loves any kind of animal, insect, or really any living thing. I love seeing how excited he gets when he finds something interesting.

It made me think about how easily children find things worth stopping for. A tiny frog. A bug crawling across the sidewalk. A rock. A leaf. They don’t need those things to be spectacular. They’re simply interesting because they’re there.

I love how kids are fascinated by so many little things. They haven’t yet learned to hurry past them.

Looking back at the photos from this month, I realize I wasn’t really looking for beautiful things. I was looking for reasons to pause. Sometimes that meant noticing a pattern in a leaf or the colors of a flower. Sometimes it meant watching mushrooms grow on a fallen tree or my sweet grandson holding a tiny frog in his little hand.

None of these moments were particularly important on their own. But together, they reminded me how much I can miss when I’m rushing through my day.

I started the month thinking I was going to photograph the small things. Somewhere along the way, I think the small things reminded me to slow down and pay attention.

by Karon -

A Little Wandering, A Lot of Serendipity

For my second little weekend getaway, I drove up to Boone and Blowing Rock. These are two more of my favorite places in North Carolina, and what a perfect weekend for this trip. It was sunny with highs in the 60s and lows in the 40s. It was a little too early for fall color, but the temps felt like fall, and many stores already had pumpkins at their doorways.

I started out my first morning with a wander through West King Street. My photos definitely don’t capture what it felt like walking through this little historic downtown on a chilly 48-degree morning. The air was crisp, the flowers were bright, and the town was already bustling before shops were even open. Bakeries and coffee shops with outdoor seating were filled with people wearing sweaters or jackets, many with dogs by their sides. The mountain vibe was everywhere.

I wandered into a little shop with western wear and boots that had opened early. The smell of leather gave me a comfortable and familiar feeling. I browsed through the clothes and thought about buying a jacket since I had forgotten to pack one. Then I remembered the downsizing and how I had vowed to only buy what I actually needed. I honestly don’t need another jacket, so I passed on it and instead had a great conversation with the woman working in the store.

As I was about to leave, I asked her about her favorite things to do in town. She told me about a park where she goes to hike that had recently created an elevated walkway where you could look out over Boone. So, when I finished walking through town, I headed up to the park.

The road meandered through a neighborhood and then wound up the mountain. Howard Knob Park sits at an elevation of 4,396 feet above sea level, with a gain of about 1,060 feet from town. The park had hiking trails, beautiful mountain views, and the new elevated walkway that had brought me there.

I’m so glad I took the time to chat with the clerk. Otherwise, I would have missed this beautiful sweeping view of town and the surrounding mountains.

While I was standing on the walkway, I noticed a couple in the process of a proposal. I watched for a moment as she said yes. I felt happy for the couple and later congratulated them wishing them a wonderful life together.

I sat on a boulder for a while and watched people come and go. A young girl who looked like a college student asked if I would take a picture of her. We talked for a while, and I could sense a feeling of homesickness from her. It turned out that she was a nursing student and was having a rough start.

I acknowledged that the first year of college is very difficult and tried to reassure her that it gets better with time. We chatted for a while and then she left. I hope our little conversation helped her feel a little less homesick. At times like these, I appreciate being an empath.

I collected a few fallen leaves for a future art project with my grandsons, a few acorns that we could plant, and a few photos, then went on my way.

I drove over to Blowing Rock, one of the cutest little mountain towns in North Carolina. My first stop there was the Moses Cone Manor, a beautiful 23-room mansion built in 1901 as a summer retreat for Moses and Bertha Cone. The house sits on what was once their 3,500-acre country estate.

The Cones had quite a vision for this place. They worked with conservationist Gifford Pinchot, who had also worked in forestry at the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, to help shape the landscape. The estate included forests, two lakes, and a huge apple orchard, all carefully planned as part of their country retreat.

I wandered around the grounds for a while, taking in the old trees, the views, and the peacefulness of the place. It felt like another one of those moments when there was really nowhere I needed to be. I could simply wander, look around, and notice what was there.

I stopped at an art demonstration that was set up in the sunroom on the porch. The artist was showing eco-printing, which is basically using flowers and leaves to print their color and shape onto fabric. Then she adds affirmations or other beautiful words using a free-motion sewing machine to stitch her own cursive writing onto the designs. She also quilts around the flower shapes and the edges of the fabric. I was really impressed with the process, and her work was beautiful.

We chatted while she worked and discovered that we had a lot in common. We had both read The Artist’s Way and were both interested in solo travel. We exchanged phone numbers and decided to meet up for lunch someday.

As I drove away, I realized how much I’ve changed. I really do enjoy meeting new people now.

I drove on into Blowing Rock and somehow found a great parking space right on the main street in a free parking zone. What luck, because the town was packed. I had a delicious sandwich at a little gourmet sandwich shop with outdoor seating, then wandered through some of my favorite shops. They were full of mountain-lodge things that I was very tempted by. I browsed, contemplated, and walked away without buying anything.

Except for a book.

I met a young man who had written his first book. I liked his message, so I bought his book to support his efforts.

On my second morning, I drove over to the Blowing Rock. The actual rock is surprisingly just outside the park welcome center door. From the photos I had seen, I pictured it being out in the wilderness with a hiking trail to get to it. Instead, I walked out the door and there it was.

The Blowing Rock is a cliff that juts out from the Blue Ridge crest about 4,000 feet above sea level, with the Johns River Gorge nearly 3,000 feet below. But it’s the legend behind the rock that makes it especially interesting.

According to the legend, a young Chickasaw maiden fell in love with a Cherokee brave. When he was forced to return to his tribe, he leapt from the cliff, and the heartbroken maiden prayed to the Great Spirit to bring him back. A powerful gust of wind rose from the gorge and carried him back to her. The winds that rise up from the gorge are said to be the reason for the rock’s name, and the legend even says they are strong enough to make snow fall upward in the winter.

According to the park personnel, that actually happens.

It was so windy that I had to hold my hat in my hand to keep it from blowing away.

Standing there, I could certainly feel the wind coming up from the gorge, although thankfully there was no snow that morning. I walked around the overlook and took in the views of the mountains and gorge below. From the rock, you can see Grandfather Mountain as well as Hawksbill and Table Rock in Linville Gorge.

I did a little more wandering before I headed back to Fayetteville. What a fun and relaxing weekend!

Looking back, I think what I enjoyed most wasn’t any one particular place. It was having the freedom to wander, follow a recommendation, stop and talk to someone, and see where the day took me. I really do love this way of traveling.

by Karon -

Ten Years Later, I’m Back in North Carolina

So I’m back in North Carolina. A state that I called home for three years and have wonderful memories of. It’s also the state where I began writing my lists of “100 Ideas to Do in [Year].”

I have continued to make these lists each year for thirteen years now. It’s something I love to do each year either right before or right after Christmas. I curl up with a blanket, my notebook, and a cup of tea or maybe a glass of wine. I let my heart and imagination run free and begin my list of all the things I would like to do or accomplish in the new year. They may be practical or completely wild ideas.

After New Year rolls around, I set out with my fresh list. It’s like a mini bucket list. And yes, I also have my master bucket list. I began it about twenty years ago.

I’ve always loved adventures and travel, but I had a very full and busy life, so I hadn’t done as much of it as I would have liked to. When I accepted a job teaching for the Department of Defense and moved to North Carolina, I really began to explore.

North Carolina is actually one of my favorite states. It has my favorite U.S. beaches, and you can go from beach to mountains in just a few hours. You can even drive to another state in just a couple of hours depending on where you’re starting from. A little different from Texas, where you can literally drive all day and still be in Texas.

I also have great memories from my time there. It’s where shrimp and grits became one of my favorite meals. It’s where I first went kayaking and tried stand-up paddleboarding (I wasn’t too successful with that one). It’s also where I began to challenge my fear of heights with ziplining, walking on a mile-high pedestrian bridge, and taking trips over some scary bridges. I made new friends, took a ballroom dance class, volunteered with the sea turtle rescue, watched baby sea turtles hatch and head out to sea, and learned to live alone.

Now, ten years, a few countries, and a lot of adventures later, I am back.

I am a different person now. I am a grandmother. Retired. A world traveler. I am stronger and more confident.

I’m mainly here to spend time with my daughter and her family, but since I love to travel and I love North Carolina, I’ll be out visiting some of my favorite places and probably some new ones, too.

My first outing after spending time with Amy was to Jacksonville, where I used to live and work. My first stop was Emerald Isle, where I put my feet in the sand on one of my very favorite beaches. I love the beautiful beaches scattered with shells, the tall grasses that grow wild in the dunes, the salty breeze, and the sound of the waves methodically rolling in. I also love the wooden walkways through the dunes out to the sand and that many have little outdoor showers where you can wash away the sand from your toes.

When I’ve been inland for too long, I start feeling landlocked. So, after being in the high desert of Albuquerque for so long, I was really craving the ocean. The Atlantic beaches feel like home.

Definitely one of my happy places.

The next morning, I got up bright and early and headed for Beaufort (pronounced Bo-fort). Just the sweetest little town, with historic buildings and homes, a boardwalk, boats, fun shops, art galleries, great restaurants, and that quaint small-town feel that I love.

I had sort of forgotten how much I love this little town. I started out wandering along the boardwalk and watched a few people loading up their boats for a day on the water. I took pictures in the early morning light before I headed over to the little coffee shop on the main street for a chai tea latte. One of my favorite little indulgences. Next, I wandered through town and the shops that were open. Before leaving, I drove around just admiring the old historic homes and the waterfront views.

On the way back to Jacksonville, I stopped at Riverside Steak and Seafood in Swansboro for lunch and had my favorite shrimp and grits.

Such a wonderful day.

The next morning, I drove back to Swansboro (another of my favorite small towns) and just walked around and took pictures of the quaint little shops and the old red brick building that I always loved. Later that day, I met up with old friend for dinner at Preston’s Restaurant in Swansboro. Oddly enough, I had never tried this restaurant. After a delicious meal, we walked down the main street to the corner where there is live music every Sunday evening during the summer months.

And it was really a stroke of luck because this was the last music night of the season. The band was really good and the first song they played was the old Lynyrd Skynyrd song Free Bird. Love the music from that era. I’ve never been disappointed by the local live music in North Carolina.

The Summer Music Series in Swansboro was always one of my favorite things to do, and I was so glad that Mary Ann was free for this fun little outing.

I’m so happy that I took this little trip! I had really missed this area and the hotel had a great outdoor pool, where I enjoyed a swim each day. I had more things that I wanted to do, but there just wasn’t enough time in the day to get them all in.

I definitely want to return. There are other friends I want to catch up with, favorite restaurants I want to return to, and more places I want to revisit.

I’ll see you again soon, Jacksonville and the Emerald Coast!

by Karon -

A Last Look at Albuquerque: Tramway, Petroglyphs & Route 66

Before leaving New Mexico, I had a few more things I wanted to see.

I’d been in Albuquerque long enough to know it probably wasn’t going to become one of my favorite places. The summer heat certainly didn’t help. But the longer I stayed and the more I explored, the more I found to appreciate—unexpected murals, quirky Route 66 stops, ancient rock art, and those enormous Sandia Mountains always looming in the background. Some of my favorite discoveries were actually outside the city, but they all added to my experience in New Mexico.

So, before packing up and moving on, I decided to have one last look around.

I decided to see Albuquerque from above.

I’d been looking at the Sandia Mountains for weeks, so riding the Sandia Peak Tramway seemed like a fitting way to finally get a closer look.

The tram travels more than two miles up the mountain, climbing to more than 10,000 feet. As it rose above the city, Albuquerque seemed to get smaller and smaller below me. The Rio Grande stretched across the valley, and the desert landscape spread out in every direction.

I’ve seen plenty of beautiful views during this nomad year, but there was something special about seeing Albuquerque from this perspective. From the ground, the city can feel sprawling and a little chaotic. From the mountain, it looked peaceful.

And, thankfully, considerably cooler.

The tram ride made me think about how sometimes you just need to change your perspective.

Literally.

If the tram gave me a new perspective on Albuquerque, my visit to Petroglyph National Monument took me in a completely different direction—back hundreds of years.

The monument protects thousands of images carved into the dark volcanic rocks along Albuquerque’s West Mesa. Some were created by Indigenous people, while others were carved by Spanish settlers centuries ago.

I followed the trail, looking closely at the rocks for images that can be surprisingly easy to miss.

A bird.

A figure.

A symbol.

A handprint.

It was fascinating to think about someone standing in this very place hundreds of years ago, carefully carving an image into the rock.

There was no grand building. No elaborate exhibit. Just rocks, desert, sky—and these little pieces of history still sitting right where they were left.

I liked that.

Of course, I couldn’t leave Albuquerque without a little more time on Route 66.

One thing I did enjoy about Albuquerque was how often something unexpected caught my eye. You didn’t always have to be looking for an attraction. Sometimes you just turned a corner and found something worth stopping for.

A mural.

An old neon sign.

A vintage building.

A sculpture that made me wonder what the artist was thinking.

And then there’s Route 66 itself, running through the heart of the city along Central Avenue.

Albuquerque has embraced its stretch of the Mother Road with murals, public art, historic signs, and plenty of colorful reminders of its past. In fact, the city’s new Route 66 Remixed project has turned an 18-mile stretch of the road into an art-filled journey featuring murals, sculptures, and other creative installations.

That felt very Albuquerque to me.

History, art, kitsch, culture, and a little bit of weirdness all mixed together.

I stopped for pictures whenever something caught my eye. Some were planned. Others were completely random.

Those might have been my favorite kind.

Looking back at my time in Albuquerque, I realize I probably won’t remember the city as a collection of major attractions.

I’ll remember the little things.

The colorful murals I stumbled across while driving around.

The Route 66 signs.

The quirky roadside touches.

The mountains appearing at the end of a street.

The enormous sky.

The petroglyphs hiding in the volcanic rocks.

And that first view from the tram when the entire city opened up below me.

Maybe that’s what travel does sometimes.

We arrive somewhere expecting to decide whether we like it or not. We make our lists and visit the places we’re supposed to visit. And then, somewhere along the way, the place becomes less about the things we checked off and more about the little moments we remember.

Albuquerque and I never became great friends.

But I found things here that I loved.

Art.

History.

Beautiful landscapes.

A few unexpected adventures.

And, as has happened so many times during this nomad year, I found a little more of myself along the way.

So this is my last New Mexico post—for now, anyway.

I’m leaving with a full camera roll, a few more stories, and the feeling that maybe Albuquerque didn’t need to steal my heart after all.

Maybe it was enough to simply give me something to remember.

by Karon -

A Little Church with a Big Story: El Santuario de Chimayó

I had heard about the little church in Chimayó, New Mexico, and knew it was supposed to be special. Still, I wasn’t quite prepared for how much I would love it.

El Santuario de Chimayó sits along the High Road to Taos, surrounded by the rugged beauty of northern New Mexico. From the outside, it doesn’t look particularly grand. It’s a small adobe church with simple lines and a weathered appearance that seems to belong exactly where it is.

But there is something about this place.

The present chapel was completed in 1816, but the land had been considered sacred long before the church was built. The area was important to the Tewa people, who believed the surrounding springs and landscape had healing properties. Later, Spanish settlers brought Catholic traditions to the area, creating the layers of history and faith that are still part of Chimayó today.

The story behind the sanctuary is almost as fascinating as the church itself.

According to tradition, in 1810 a local man named Bernardo Abeyta saw a mysterious light coming from the ground on Good Friday. When he investigated, he discovered a crucifix buried in the earth.

The crucifix was taken to a nearby church, but the next morning it was gone. Somehow, it had returned to the spot where Abeyta had found it.

The crucifix was moved again.

Again, it returned.

Eventually, people decided that the crucifix wanted to remain in Chimayó, and Abeyta petitioned for a chapel to be built at the site. That chapel eventually became the sanctuary that stands there today.

I love stories like this—not necessarily because I know what I believe about them, but because they become part of the character of a place. And this little church has had more than 200 years for its stories to settle into the walls.

Inside, the sanctuary is intimate and beautifully decorated with traditional New Mexican religious folk art. The carved and painted santos, the altar, and the handmade details gave me plenty to look at. Nothing felt overly polished or grand. It felt personal and deeply rooted in the culture of the area.

One of the most unusual parts of the sanctuary is a tiny room called El Pocito, or “the little well.” A small hole in the floor contains earth that pilgrims have traditionally taken for its healing properties.

The tradition goes back generations, and people still come here seeking healing and comfort.

There is something especially moving about that. Whether someone believes the earth itself has healing power or simply finds comfort in the faith and ritual surrounding it, people have been coming here for a very long time with their hopes, worries, gratitude, and prayers.

I also visited the nearby Holy Child of Atocha Chapel, often called the children’s chapel. It was smaller and quieter, but filled with its own interesting details. I loved wandering around the grounds and taking in all the little details.

And that’s really what I enjoyed most about Chimayó. It wasn’t just the church itself. It was the whole setting—the adobe buildings, the courtyards, the mountains in the distance, and the feeling that I was standing in a place where generations of people had come before me.

I know I didn’t see everything.

There are other historic chapels in the area, and I didn’t explore nearly as much of Chimayó as I could have. In fact, learning more about the history afterward made me realize just how much I missed.

Maybe that’s okay.

Sometimes a place leaves you with a little unfinished business.

I’d like to return during Holy Week someday and experience the pilgrimage to El Santuario de Chimayó. Thousands of people make their way to the sanctuary on foot, some walking many miles as an act of faith, gratitude, or a search for healing. I think there would be something powerful about being part of that journey—not simply arriving at the church, but experiencing the walking, the quiet moments, and the shared purpose along the way.

For now, though, I’m grateful I stopped.

I went expecting to see an old New Mexico church. Instead, I found a place where history, art, faith, and tradition have been woven together for generations.

Perhaps that’s what I loved most about Chimayó. It reminded me that sometimes the places that stay with us aren’t the grandest or most spectacular. Sometimes they’re the quiet ones that invite us to slow down, look a little closer, and wonder about all the people who stood there before us.

I have a feeling I’ll be standing there again someday.

by Karon -

My August Project Wasn’t a Project at All

My August project wasn’t a project at all.

August turned out to be a month of movement. I stayed in three different states and drove through five others, covering around 2,040 miles. I knew it would be a month of transitions, packing and unpacking, and lots of time behind the wheel, so I decided to plan most of my free days around family.

I spent time with my mom creating art for the local county fair. I helped her create two pieces: one was a painting of flowers in a cowboy boot, which seemed appropriate for a fair. The other was a paper collage of a bird, since my mom loves the birds that come to her feeders outside her window. We had fun working on the projects together, and I was so proud when she came home with two ribbons, including a Best of Show! We also enjoyed a couple of special meals together.

I took each of my three Texas grandsons on an individual date. They each got to choose an activity and a restaurant for lunch. I ended up with pizza for lunch on two of the three days, but it was so worth it. I loved having that one-on-one time with each of them and getting to see what they wanted to do.

Over those three days, I visited two different museums, one playground, and the duck pond three times. One chose the Veterans Museum because he loves everything military, even though we’d been there before. The littlest one chose the playground in my old neighborhood because it was always his favorite thing to do when he would visit. And the oldest opted for the Sam Houston Museum since neither of us had been before.

We almost always visit the duck pond on outings. It’s the same duck pond where I took my kids when they were little, so it’s fun to take my grandkids there now. It has a huge cypress tree that I always take pictures of the boys standing beside. It’s become a bit of a tradition, even though they don’t always want to cooperate. We also enjoyed some lovely family meals and plenty of time together at home.

All those miles on the road were worth it when I reached my final destination and got to spend more time with my daughter and her family. Because of the distance, I don’t get to spend as much time with these two grandsons, so I thoroughly enjoyed having several days to simply be Grandma—or “Christmas Tree,” as they call me. It’s my grandma name, given to me on a whim by the older one, and somehow it stuck. I love it! We ended the month with a birthday celebration for my youngest grandson.

Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t plan a project for August. Instead, I let the month unfold into something I hadn’t planned for: a month filled with precious time with my family.

by Karon -

Santa Fe Had Been Waiting for Me

Santa Fe had been waiting for me.

Well, not literally. But ever since my first visit a few years ago, I had been wanting to go back and give this fascinating little city more than a quick visit. There was too much I hadn’t seen and too many streets I hadn’t wandered.

So when I found myself spending several weeks in Albuquerque, I knew Santa Fe was finally getting its second chance. Just an hour up the road, it was close enough for a few day trips—and I took full advantage.

Over several visits, I wandered around the historic plaza, stepped inside the famous Loretto Chapel, spent hours exploring the galleries along Canyon Road, and discovered a few local favorites along the way. And after several trips to Santa Fe, I still wasn’t sure I’d seen enough.

The Plaza de Santa Fe was one of the places I found myself returning to. For more than four centuries, it has been at the heart of the city. Surrounded by historic buildings, shops, galleries, restaurants, and plenty of places to sit and watch the world go by, it was easy to spend hours simply wandering.

Just off the Plaza is one of Santa Fe’s most famous landmarks: Loretto Chapel. On one of my visits, I stopped inside to see the mysterious spiral staircase that has fascinated visitors for generations. According to legend, the staircase was built by a mysterious carpenter who appeared after the Sisters of Loretto prayed for a way to reach the choir loft. The staircase’s unusual construction—and the mystery surrounding its builder—has led to its reputation as a miraculous one.

Canyon Road was another stop I made more than once. It’s an art lover’s paradise, with gallery after gallery to explore. I enjoyed chatting with gallery owners and managers, many of whom had fascinating stories about the art, the artists, and how they had personally ended up in Santa Fe. They were also happy to share recommendations for favorite local restaurants and must-do experiences around the city.

By the end of each visit, I was exhausted and maybe a little overstimulated by the abundance of art, artists, and styles. Then again, I may have felt that way every time I left Santa Fe. It’s a city overflowing with culture, history, and art—and apparently, I needed a little time to process it all.

If I visit again, I would like to return in the fall, when the leaves are changing color and the air is cooler. Santa Fe cloaked in amber hues would be a whole different experience. And I could build my trip around a painting workshop, with plenty of time to create, connect with other creative people, and maybe even make a few new friends along the way.

by Karon -

My First Nomad-aversary: One Year of Going Alone

It’s already my first nomad-aversary!

One year ago, I sold almost everything I owned and set off to see what life might look like without a permanent home. I had joked about becoming a nomad for years, so by the time I finally started sorting through closets, drawers, and decades of accumulated stuff, I was emotionally ready.

Or so I thought.

It turns out that being ready to leave and actually deciding what to do with years of belongings are two very different things. Downsizing was more challenging than I expected, and there were definitely moments when I wondered what in the world I was doing.

But somewhere between leaving my old life behind and finding my way through seventeen states, I discovered something I hadn’t expected.

I didn’t just learn that I could live with less. I learned more about what I want more of.

More time with my family and friends. More forests and beaches. More wandering through small towns and lingering long enough to really get to know a place. More photography. More art galleries. More of those ordinary, beautiful moments that are easy to miss when life feels busy.

Madrid, New Mexico

None of these things are new loves. But this past year has given me the chance to make more room for them.

So, before I get too sentimental, I thought it would be fun to look back at year one of this adventure—the places I’ve been, a few favorites, what surprised me, and some of what this nomadic life has taught me along the way.

The Numbers:

  • seventeen states and one other country—all repeat visits
  • two Great Lakes
  • five lighthouses
  • eight beaches
  • one caldera
  • two national parks
  • seven state parks
  • seventeen Dambo Trolls
  • three desert communities
  • one lavender farm
  • twenty-six old churches
  • 48 things checked off from my 2025 List of Ideas (August–December)
  • 51 things checked off from my 2026 List of Ideas (January–August)

My Favorites:

  • Meal – surprisingly, Mexican food in Colorado Springs at Milagro’s Cocina Mexicano
  • Adventure – hiking to the Eternal Flames Falls in New York
  • Beach – Anna Maria Island, Florida
  • Small town – Manitou Springs and Golden, Colorado; Sackets Harbor and Ellicottville, New York. I had a hard enough time narrowing it down to four.
  • Seasonal thing – fall in New York
  • Old church – Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico

What Surprised Me:

  • how much I enjoyed meeting new people
  • how much I missed pine trees and forest walks while I was in the desert
  • how quickly a new place can start to feel familiar
  • how little I need to feel at home
  • how much I enjoy having nowhere particular to be
  • how tiring constant decision-making can occasionally be
  • how much confidence I’ve gained from figuring things out alone
  • how different it feels to live somewhere versus simply visit it

What I’ve Learned:

  • I cherish my time with family and friends more than ever
  • I need water in my life—whether it’s lakes, oceans, or rivers
  • apparently, I need pine trees too
  • I can trust myself more than I thought
  • confidence can grow quietly
  • talking to strangers isn’t nearly as scary as I once thought
  • I don’t have to know exactly what’s next
  • going alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely

I started my journey as a nomad with my son and his family in Texas, and I’m ending my first year with my daughter and her family back in North Carolina. Somehow, that feels like the perfect beginning and ending to this first year of the journey.

I love that this lifestyle has given me the flexibility to spend more time with family and friends, winter at the beach, wander through small towns, and really explore different areas. After one year as a nomad, I can honestly say it’s been a great first year.

I’m not making any travel plans just yet, but I have plenty of ideas for year two.

by Karon -

My July Project: Finding My Way Back to Myself

My July project started out very simply – bring more creativity into my life. I thought I was going to spend July doing creative things, but somewhere along the way, creativity reminded me who I was.

I started by going to several art galleries each week. This wasn’t difficult with areas like Santa Fe, Madrid, and Old Town Albuquerque all less than an hour away. I’ve always loved eclectic art galleries, and I found plenty of them in this area.

Many of the galleries were small, independently owned spaces and I was able to meet and visit with the artist. It was so interesting to chat with them about their inspirations or how they got started in art. One watercolor artist I met had been an engineer for 30+ years and then started his second career as an artist. His work was so peaceful, with such a wonderful use of light.

One of my favorite art experiences by far was discovering “Origami in the Garden at Box Studios” on the Santa Fe end of the Turquoise Trail. It turned out that the artist, Kevin Box, was the same artist whose work had captivated me in Boulder, Colorado. I had first discovered his sculptures at a lovely gallery on a sunny afternoon at Pearl Street Mall, and I immediately felt a connection to his work—a permanent representation of the ephemeral art of paper folding. During my years in Japan, I had developed a deep appreciation for the delicate art of origami and absolutely fell in love with Kevin Box’s sculptures. So, to happen upon his work again after traveling all the way to New Mexico felt like such a serendipitous moment.

Besides wandering through art galleries, I began to sketch in my watercolor journal even if only for ten or fifteen minutes a day. It became such a fun little addition to my daily habits. I would sketch everything from flowers to adobe dwellings. I gave myself permission to just play and have fun with the paint without any expectations. I did for myself what I used to do for my art students – encouraged myself to just be okay with imperfection.

I also started reading The War of Art, a book recommended by an artist I met during my stay in Rockport, Texas, back in January. I had actually attended her workshop the previous fall, and when I visited her gallery during my time in Rockport, we talked about the creative process and her own leap of faith into pursuing art. I tucked her book recommendation away in my bin of books traveling with me, and July seemed like the perfect time to finally read it. Her story, along with the book’s exploration of the internal conflicts we face when we try to create, gave me even more to think about during those hot Albuquerque afternoons.

Somewhere along the way, I noticed something happening. The more time I spent wandering through art galleries, talking to artists, practicing art, or reading about creating, the more I wanted to create. I felt like I had found my way back to myself.

Cliff dwellings at Bandelier National Monument.
by Karon -

The Quiet Magic of Bandelier National Monument

After winding through the Jemez Mountains, I arrived at my last stop for the day – Bandelier National Monument. I pulled over at the overlook and peered into the vast canyon. Even with a sturdy railing, my heart skipped a beat as I looked toward the canyon floor. I couldn’t help wondering what the drive down would be like. A few minutes later, I had my answer. There is a rather steep grade of about 8 percent with sharp switchbacks and steep drop-offs along the canyon walls. Honestly, though, it wasn’t bad at all.

Excited to see the cliff dwellings, I started my hike at the visitor center and then meandered along a flat shady path that ran parallel to a creek. Trees shaded the creek on one side of the trail while towering cliff walls rose on the other. Trees shaded the creek on one side of the trail while towering cliff walls rose on the other. Before long, the trail emerged into full sun, where it led to a kiva and the remains of several adobe structures. Looking down into the circular kiva, I thought of the people who had gathered there in the spiritual heart of the community, and I thought back to the first time I saw pueblo ruins and kivas decades ago at Mesa Verde in Colorado.

As I looked up, I got my first glimpse of the dwellings on the side of the cliff. I knew that there were going to be stairs, but this looked further up than I had anticipated. As I walked on, the path began to have an incline. I found a shaded bench beneath a few trees and stopped for my first break. The colors of the cliff walls were breathtaking ranging from light tan to warm yellows with streaks and layers of red and orange.

Most of the dwellings were in caves with ladders at the entrance, but there was also what looked like a rectangular house made with adobe and wooden beams. I thought about how difficult it would have been to carry those beams up without the modern convenience of the well-designed steps that had led me there.

I made my way up one of the ladders and stepped inside the small cave dwelling. The room was surprisingly cool, even in the afternoon sun. Being in a place where families once cooked, slept, and raised children made the history feel far more personal than simply reading about it on a sign.

It was hard to imagine families living high above the canyon, yet the alcoves felt surprisingly sheltered and connected to the landscape.

After I reached the highest level of the stairs, I turned and looked at the ruins below. They looked much larger and more intricate than when you are standing right beside them. From above, the valley stretched out below me, with the creek winding through the trees beneath towering cliff walls. Everything felt quiet, peaceful, and expansive. I felt proud of myself for making the climb (200 steps in all) and paused to take it all in. There were other trails, but I felt content with my adventure for the day. A year ago, my life felt much smaller. That afternoon, standing above the canyon, I realized how much confidence these solo adventures have quietly given me.