Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand seconds.

Or eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

Or three hundred and sixty-five days.

It doesn’t matter how you measure it really. One way or another, an entire year has unraveled through the fabric of time - into a pile of memories made and lessons learned. For us, it was a pretty big year. Our first year. The year we sold our possessions and quit our jobs and set sail for the unknown. The year we spent getting lost and meeting fascinating people and sleeping in unsanitary places in uncomfortable positions. A year that was crazy and beautiful and amazing and terrifying and completely and utterly life changing.

And now, it’s over. Time for us to hang up our backpacks, turn in our passports (at least for a little while) and return to the “real world.” To resume the former title of responsible grown-up. Start paying bills. Sleeping in beds. Showering regularly.

We used our last two and a half months of freedom to explore the northwestern US. Wyoming to Idaho to Montana to Oregon to Washington to Canada. We sat around more campfires than I can count. Perfected the art of burning things in a dutch oven. Stood in line at grocery stores and noticed we had sap in our hair. And I suppose the biggest thing that has happened along the way, is that we fell in love with a tiny town.

If you follow the Yellowstone River out of the park and into the vastness of Montana – it hangs a quick right and heads towards an old-timey main street surrounded by gigantic purple mountains. A town built by cracked rancher hands and founded on grit. It’s a small place. But it’s beautiful. With wide open spaces and room to grow. A place that we’ve determined feels like home.

Deciding to leave Denver is not a decision that we came to easily. It was one that was discussed and debated and meditated on and discussed and debated again. We made actual, physical scribbled down lists of pros and cons. We talked about it until we were blue in the face. There’s been worry, doubt, tears (because if you haven’t deduced already by reading these blogs – I tend to cry about things). We have friends, family, amazing jobs and fantastic co-workers that we’re leaving behind. But we’ve decided it’s something that we want to do because we know it’s the place where we can live the lives we’ve imagined.

So as we start to pack up what’s left of our stuff and transition into this new life, I want you all to know a few things:

To our families -  especially our moms, whose hearts we know we’re breaking by moving even just a little bit farther away. Please don’t fret. We are out in the world. Doing what you taught us to do. And we’re happy. We promise to work hard to bridge the gaps in distance. To skype and call and send letters and packages. To continue come home for holidays and summer vacations. We promise to take care of each other. Everything we are, and everything we ever will be is because of you. We’ll never ever forget that. Annnnd we’re also pretty happy you have to love us no matter what.

To all of our friends and neighbors and co-workers in Denver. Know that it is incredibly hard to leave you. You have become a close family – a network of people who have made our lives whole. We will never be able to replace you and we promise we’ll be back often to drink microbrews and share stories and catch up on the Colorado latest.

To all of those who have extended such kindness to us over this year - the strangers who have invited us in to their homes, the locals who have shared with us their secret spots,  the old friends who have blown off work to hang out when we passed through town. Thank you. Please come visit. Our door will always be open to travelers. We have a special place for them in our hearts.

And especially to my husband, who is my rock, my cheerleader. The person who makes me brave enough to dream big dreams and do things that are a little bit insane. Let’s go build a life we love. One we can be proud of. That’s on our own terms. And let’s remember always, the things we’ve learned over this three hundred and sixty-five day trip around the sun.

We’re not going back to a furnished home. Not hardly. I’m pretty sure we sold our dinnerware and I can’t remember if we sent our can opener to good will. But I’ve learned that we don’t really need much; we have enough. And that a warm bed is something to always be appreciated – even though I know we don’t even really need that either, as long as we have each other.

Until next time, 

Kenz