The other day I was parked somewhere waiting on my kids- probably at the school about to pee on myself- and I caught a glimpse of this guy walking down the highway. He looked like he was in his late 20’s. He had a very large backpack on. The kind that carries all you would need to live. And I literally stared at him walking for quite a few minutes towards the mountains. And I said out loud “lucky dude”.
I spent the morning in the passenger seat of my Jeep while Patrick drove us up Mt. Herman, down the backside and into a little town over the mountain called Woodland Park. We ate lunch, headed home and I had some time to think. No kids. I could smell people barbecuing and saw families out and just like a certain song or t-shirt can bring me back, that smell brings me home. To Texas home. So in this moment with my hands swinging out of the topless Jeep and me so happy I could cry because being on a mountain is freaking amazing- I was thinking of Texas. Or home. Or Dad. Or family. Or something.