When we were road tripping around the west before I started another assignment in Gig Harbor, Washington, we met this family at a campground. They had been there all weekend, playing games, swimming and riding their jet ski. All their kids were well into their teenage years, probably the youngest around fourteen or fifteen. All these siblings got along so damn well, they slept in the same tent together. I made dinner while watching them all play baseball in the grassy field right beside their tent and I remember being quite awed by that. Awed by the simple joys of childhood, growing up, relationships, and a family that is good to each other. Families that are good to one another and love well and without argument are beautiful to me. They also feel incredibly rare. And that makes me feel sad, to believe and to know that good families, loving families are hard to come by. I mean, isn’t that what it means to have a family. To create life and share memories and love each other well. To not expect perfection by any means, but at the very least be good to one another.

I did a lot of window gazing on this road trip. Just staring out the front windshield or side window while I was in the passenger seat. Just gazing and wondering and believing in the transparency of beauty. The majesty of goodness. The amount of polaroid moments for me on this road trip seem to take up all the extra storage space in my brain, while at the same time, they seem to create a space for more and more, an infinite amount of polaroid moments. And that’s really what I’m living for: the pure moments, the good moments, the love, the joy, the awe. I want the awe.