The sky is one smooth color of blinding-white grey. The water has the slightest ripples, giving the trees and buildings reflected on its surface a blurry image. The muddy grass at the water’s edge has been topped with sand-colored gravel after a car had to be towed from its sticky grasp. There is a lively male cardinal that snacks and sings just outside our window on a fragile tree. I haven’t determined if it’s a sapling or just a branch that’s left after the two hurricanes passed through. A tiny woodpecker joins him, but no noise is involved in his search for food as a wet sawdust-like hole is already available.

The weather is nice, after dipping into the 30s, even a twenty-degree temperature difference would be kind, but we were gifted more than that. I revel in this climate before the seasonal change brings with it reasons to sweat outside and swat at my skin when I forget the bug spray. I prefer walking outside, which is another reason I will be doing so much of it this year on the PCT, but I’m also supposed to be training my legs for increased inclines that undulate for days over mountain ranges, so the treadmill calls me in while I live in a state of flat land.

Inside, we vary between using the ceiling fan above us, based on current humidity and temperature, with the sliding door open, the screen between us and the elements. I am not able to hear the gentle key tapping over the whir of the freeze dryer while it works on meals 240+ that we will have shipped to us along the way, thanks to Caleb’s sister, who has also volunteered to join us for a portion and bring me some snacks! We are nearing the end of our food prep and will soon be organizing all the bags into their proper boxes before driving them across the country.

I have started reading more articles about caring for my feet, which books to read on the trail, and the best snacks to have while Caleb fills his time with the water report, fire detours, and best resupply locations. We just learned that the shorter path into Canada is no longer an option, so we will have to backtrack a day or two after reaching the terminus to complete our trek and meet up with Uncle Ed, who has agreed to bring us back into civilization, having been a mountain man a day or two in his lengthy history.

I finished reading Robin, an interesting look into a man I grew up watching but knew so little about as his life was not mine to know. We are currently still listening to On Trails: An Exploration, which explores the footsteps of creatures from ants to elephants, while we drive or meal prep. I’m also reading my book club recommendation of You Like It Darker by an author of books that I own a few of, but only the first six of his 12 short stories and novellas, as others find it more difficult to read a book a month.

I’ve been going through old letters, some from twenty years ago, a lifetime of differences, but mostly, I’m the same person – minus hanging out with people fresh from prison or rehab. I don’t feel the need to lie about the place I live in or the friends I spend time with because my teachers, acquaintances, and mom are no longer around to judge me. Why, then, do I keep their words of best friends forever, their proclamations of unfounded love, and their childhood frustrations of relationship status. It’s because I believed them. I reached out, I remembered, I held on to the idea that somehow I’d be the one to last through the distance and decades of growth and exploration.

I’m grateful to the people I’ve met who know better than me that they didn’t plan on going anywhere except living in an imaginary white picket-fenced home with two to three beautiful children and only one loving spouse. This is more of a dream than a reality for many, and they let me move on so that I could see beyond their walls of limitations brought on by work, kids, ads, social media, neighbors, culture, society, religion, and other local-based beliefs. Caleb’s retirement used to be a mirage to us, something chased in the distance, but now that it’s here, we can revel in each other in all the ways we promised we would.

I sit here in my blue and orange Injinji toe socks, patchwork pants from Afro Caribbean Imports, and long-sleeved green shirt that says, “Donor state of mind” from OneBlood. My phone dings as Fallon takes her kids out to try a Japanese dessert place, Karley and I discuss new drinks while she’s in Orlando, Mitchell invites me to celebrate his son’s second birthday, Cheryl wants to try a new bar with live music, and Dean called, so I will have to call him back. Caleb is on the phone with Jessi now, letting her know about the change of plans for Canada, which we will need more food to accommodate.

As for the letters, I agree, some things should just be left in the past. This blog was started in 2011 and was focused on the life that Caleb and I had built together. I don’t want who I was to detract from who I am, but I also know that I will look back and not want to forget who I am now either. Some people block out painful memories and move on, others dwell in their pain through pills, booze, aggression, etc. I have edited these letters for the privacy of their writers, and yet I know they will never read them, nor do they still have the responses I so carefully penned, so where do I draw the line on how much I want to remember of people who no longer care about me.

The laughs, the wins, the lessons – that’s the answer. Hold on to what helps, and be grateful that the bad stuff can’t hurt you in the same way anymore. I’m one of the lucky few. I have been variations of homeless or unhoused, I have worn clothes from Goodwill and those found in the street, and I have eaten only Ramen or PBJs for weeks, but I have also shared so many homes with Caleb, stayed nights with family and strangers, bought expensive dive gear and shared food with those unable to get it for themselves. May we all be as lucky to find someone or something worth living for, for I know I have.