When we met, JD had completed 2 of 3 legs of a motorcycle trip to the tip of South America, and he was quick to let me know that he regarded travel and adventure to be essential parts of a meaningful life. I was eager to join him – and have been ever since. There are certain things, like tending a vegetable garden and volunteering, that I haven’t yet figured out how to integrate into our schedule. But I wouldn’t trade the life we live for anything. 

There is an art to learning how to live out of a truck camper, the two of us and our dog, on the road. Especially when the rain keeps us cooped up inside. All. Day. Long. It provides continual opportunities to practice tending to and balancing our respective, shifting needs for quiet, conversation, routine, spontaneity, music, movement, and sitting still. 

Take my meditation practice. I learned to meditate by rising hours before JD, house utterly silent and still, and sequestering myself on the floor of the guest bedroom. On this trip, I sit on the floor of the camper, eyes closed, while JD and Alma quietly move about me if they’re awake (and if either of us is awake, Alma is awake). It has taken some time, but I have come to trust this simple (not always easy, but simple) practice, to respect it enough to make it a daily habit – and JD has accepted the invitation to slow down and embrace stillness each morning, before we pack up and hit the road.

Rhythm, particularly in human relationships, is an elusive, maddening, ephemeral, soothing, beautiful thing. One moment you have it, the next moment, it’s gone – or seemingly so – only to come back at the most unexpected moment, if you remain open and attentive to its return. JD and I completed a trip down the Colorado River last fall – our second together – and one of my many takeaways from that experience was how life, and particularly marriage, is like rowing a river. One moment, the water is still and you’re drifting downstream with the current, making small but crucial adjustments as you go; the next, you’re headed toward an eddy, where you might get stuck for hours. And somewhere around the bend, you encounter a rapid: where the water’s turbulence might flip your boat, if you fail to meet it with the appropriate balance of attention, courage, skill, restraint, respect and humility.

(While writing this entry, JD and I brainstormed this list of mindsets needed to navigate a rapid together. When finished, I asked him if maybe it was too long. His response: “Not for marriage!”)

JD and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary this September. As I look toward that date, and reflect back on our 13 years together, I can honestly say that nothing in my life has challenged me, and given me as much purpose and meaning, as learning to walk beside him, and allow him to walk beside me. It isn’t always easy, but most things worth doing, aren’t. It isn’t always pretty, but then, appearances can be deceiving. As we ride down the road today, headed northbound on the Cassiar in the rain, toward Alaska – I’m grateful for the twists and turns in the road, grateful for our willingness to keep choosing this life we are creating together. Lucky enough to keep learning how and when to move, and to stay still. 

Campfire Waltz

At a camp, at the edge of the meadow
Where the water runs glassy and clean
The horses are turned out and grazing
There on the grass, so tall and so green
And the moon rises over the ridge line
And the sky is a blanket of stars
And the campfire crackles in three quarter time
As you slip into my arms


And we dance to the campfire waltz
And the night breezes sing out your name
And we turn and we sway and the cares of the day
Drift away like the sparks from a flame
Out here where the wild things are
The melody rises and falls
On a pine needle dance floor with you in my arms
We danced to the campfire waltz


The music of the mountain surround us
The wind’s like an old violin
The trees seem to gather around us
To watch as we sway
And circle and spin and I wish
We could dance here forever
But the world waits for us far below
Yet I will always remember the shine
Of your hair in the fire light’s glow


As we danced to the campfire waltz
And the night breezes sing out your name
And we turn and we sway and the cares of the day
Drift away like the sparks from a flame
Out here where the wild things are
The melody rises and falls
On a pine needle dance floor with you in my arms
We dance to the campfire waltz
On a pine needle dance floor with you in my arms
We dance to the campfire waltz


— Campfire Waltz, by Dave Stamey