learned an important lesson this week. Let me tell you about it.

We were in Arizona / Utah on a family road trip. All in road trip. Pile them in the car and completely overextend yourself and your timeline :). Fast food. Bathroom breaks. All the things.

That's not my point.

Last October, Princess Buttercup and I made this trip. Our mission was to get up to Antelope Canyon. On our way, we kicked off early one morning and walked to the top of Doe Mountain to see the sunrise. That meant an early start, stepping off in the dark, and being at the top as the sun comes up. Feet dangling over this 'little' mesa. Glorious. That is one I won't forget any time soon.

We wanted to walk up Doe Mountain again and agreed to leave early. At least one of the boys decided to join us. That makes me happy.

My alarm goes off, and I do my best to be quiet. I get the coffee maker started by stumbling around in the dark. It sounds like a rocket launch. Sorry, B. Midway through my morning routine, I check the cloud cover. Having chased a sunrise or two, this is a habit. It's going to be overcast and likely not incredible light. I call it off for the morning and let the team know they can sleep.

After a late-night In & Out burger adventure with Mason two nights before, complete with a secret menu item, I'm compelled to take a run. Pavement turns to gravel, and gravel turns to dirt. The dirt is red and extremely fine, almost like dust. Then come the switchbacks. I do love running in the desert. Headphones are dead. I’m grateful for that.

As I run, there is a hollow feeling in my chest. The idea that I was out in this morning alone. It felt wrong.  Eventually, I find myself at the Seven Sacred Pools three miles up in the hills of Sedona.  I'm alone. And I'm sad. I'm standing below these incredible rocks the size of skyscrapers. They are unhurriedly turning from grey to deep orange as the sun rises. Everything is quiet. Like nature has stopped to watch the sun come up too. Yet they stand there, like sentries, looking down on me, asking me, "why?"

Why are you alone? Why are you here by yourself? Why would you ever want to experience any part of this life yourself?

It turns out I wasn't right about the sunrise. It is pretty good. Maybe not perfect, but certainly memorable. I take it all in. The birds slowly start to talk. The desert is coming to life. I'm here, alone. Ugh.

It's clear to me, as I stand there, you get et up early. Walk up the hill. It might not be perfect, but you will be together.  Lesson learned.

Get up early. Walk up the hill. It might not be perfect, but you will be together.

As I think back to all of the sunrises I've taken the time to sit and enjoy, I don't regret one. Not the overcast ones. Not the ones where we were late. Not the ones where the photos were less than ideal. Not even the ones where I was alone. It's the ones that never made the effort to go see that tug on me somewhere in my chest. There is a lesson there too I think.

Here are my thoughts in the moment:

I do feel compelled to caveat this note with the idea that there is tremendous value in being alone. To thinking. To quiet. To meditation. This one was a miss though - we should have done this together.

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A Quote

No good thing is pleasant to possess without friends to share it. ~Seneca

It amazes me how life's most important lessons are ancient. I stumbled across this passage from Seneca's letter six the next day. Thanks, friend.

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A Moment

I am thinking back to piling the boards, the kids, and their friends into the car. A little pond. No fish that day. But lots of laughs and incredible memories. Here is to saying yes this summer.