On a rock, next to the Arkansas River in Salida, Colorado I sit. A week ago it felt as if this day were not possible. An early morning work engagement, vacating my office by noon, packing up, four hours of travel, packing up again, and then five more hours of travel stood between me and New Mexico. All in one day. Roswell beckoned like the faint light of a UFO disappearing over a hill and settling on the horizon. Is it really there? Is it a thing that exists? I must go, whether it exists or not. Another seven hours the next day would get me to Pagosa, Springs, Colorado.

How far must one go to outrun the dust and wind turbine fields inside? One can’t run that far or fast.

On car rides past (including the not so distant past), I remember staring impatiently out of the window, counting mileage signs and calculating how long it will take to get to my destination. How many more songs, podcasts…but this time was different. My parents took this trip with me, and as they reach their golden years (and particularly after the loss of my brother), I find that the time we have in places between Roswell and Clines Corners are the moments I will wish I had a chance to live again. The desolate farmlands and ghost towns and dirt and straight highways for days were conversational pieces for my father and me. We spoke of peoples of the past who this land must have known, the struggles faced, and the lives of the people who remain. The land between San Angelo, Texas, and Santa Fe, New Mexico is nothing special to take in. Except it was.

William is much more adept in the mountains than me. He hikes much more quickly and often has to wait for me, especially at the end of long stretches. I am usually viewing Will’s position as the end goal, focusing on just making it there. Often, I lose perspective on the beauty that lies in every step, on every branch, every leaf, every drop of dew on the grass, the sound of the river running beside me or in the distance, the sun beating or softly warming my skin, the sound of the rain hitting my poncho, each inhale the life-giving breath to ensure the functioning of my machine, and each exhale the letting go of all I do not need. This is my challenge to myself for this trip: to remain in this present state.

It took a lot of planning and very conscious decisions to get in the position I am in, being next to the Arkansas River on this very rock. It didn’t come easy, and certainly came with a little luck. That William was able to make time between job end and start dates, that I was able to take this leave of absence – these are gifts of luck that neither of us take for granted. But we also made the conscious decision to cook pancakes at home instead of trying every new brunch spot in Austin, to choose to spend a break of our time outdoors instead of at a resort (boutique or not), to ask for that leave of absence, to plan a career change. But all I could think of, all I could see, was the date of the start of this adventure. I failed in the preceding months to be present. If I bring nothing else back from these mountains, I hope the ability to stay as present as is necessary to appreciate the molecules of oxygen as they enliven my system stays with me.