Our Next Adventure . . .

At this time of year, Carla and I are usually finalizing our fall travel plans to Europe - where we’ve typically spent mid-September to mid-December exploring and soaking up life abroad. But this year, we’re doing things a little differently.

For starters, our departure date is December 2nd. We wanted more time at home - to be with family and friends, to sit around familiar tables sharing good meals, and most importantly, to spend Thanksgiving surrounded by the people we love. That alone feels like such a gift.

And it’s not just the timing that’s changed. For the first time in years, we won’t be heading to Europe at all. As much as we love it - and as much as I still believe it may one day be our permanent home - this time we’re setting off in a completely different direction: the “southlands.”

We’ll start our journey in Costa Rica, then make our way south through Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Ecuador. Along the way, we’ll see some truly spectacular places - the wild beauty of Patagonia, the ancient wonder of Machu Picchu, and the deep, still silence of the Atacama Desert. We’ll see the remote shores of Easter Island, take in the beautiful colors of Vinicunca - Peru’s Rainbow Mountain - and end in the Galápagos Islands, where dolphins, penguins, sea turtles, and seals live much as they have for thousands of years.

I’m excited about every stop - each place has its own kind of magic - but Patagonia . . . that one feels different. It’s been sitting quietly on my bucket list for decades, patiently waiting its turn. And now, its moment has finally come.

If you’ve ever seen photos of Patagonia - the jagged peaks, turquoise lakes, and endless skies - you probably understand why it’s so special. The landscape is wild, raw, and unimaginably vast. It feels like the kind of place that strips life down to what really matters and reminds you what it means to be fully present. And while the beauty is a big part of it - for me, it’s something more.

There’s been this quiet pull for as long as I can remember. I can’t explain it exactly - only that Patagonia has always felt like it’s been calling to me. Not in a loud, dramatic way, but more like a gentle whisper I’ve carried inside for years, waiting for the right moment to listen and follow it.

We’ll be spending 17 days there - long enough, I hope, to truly settle in and connect. We’ll hike remote trails, stand before ancient glaciers, breathe in the stillness, and take in views so vast they’ll make time feel irrelevant. And because Patagonia stretches across both Chile and Argentina, we won’t be anchored to just one spot - we’ll be moving through an entire region, each part with its own feel and rhythm.

I have a feeling this part of the trip will be more than just sightseeing. It might feel more like a quiet conversation - between the land and something deep inside me that’s been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

When we travel through Europe, our trips usually center around culture - wandering cobblestone streets, eating in small family-run restaurants, and soaking in the everyday rhythm of local life. But this journey will be different.

Yes, we’ll still connect with local people and learn about their way of life, but the main focus this time is nature. This trip is about reconnecting with the natural world – about being reminded how big, beautiful, and alive this planet still is.

If I had to guess, we’ll see more wildlife than people on this journey.

And that feels right.

Lately, like many of you, I’ve felt overwhelmed by the constant noise in the world - especially the nonstop chaos of American politics. Some days it feels inescapable, creeping into our conversations, our social media, even the background of our thoughts.

Yet nature has this incredible way of quieting all of that. When I walk through a quiet forest, stand beside the ocean, or sit beneath a wide open sky, I remember something politics - and all of life’s messiness - can make us forget: The earth is still beautiful. It always has been. It still is now. And it will be long after today’s headlines are forgotten.

Letting the beauty and wildness of the natural world calm the noise feels more important than ever.

If you’ve followed my writing - especially on Facebook - you know I speak out often about the state of our country. And I still will. But I’ve also realized how easy it is to get thrown off balance, to become so absorbed in the latest crisis that I forget there’s a much bigger story happening.

Nature brings me back to the bigger story. It grounds me, pulling me out of my head and into something real. It humbles me. When I’m surrounded by the natural world, my perspective changes. My heart opens. My priorities quietly fall into place. The hold my worries and dramas have on me begins to loosen. I see the 40,000-foot view: I’m just one small part of something unimaginably vast - and that truth is freeing. In that shift, there’s peace - a quiet, steady kind of peace that comes from knowing I’m not the whole story, just one thread in a vast and intricate tapestry. And with that remembering, I stop taking myself quite so seriously - something I think is essential for both sanity and clarity.

Sometimes I think the most important thing we can do is step outside of ourselves. Not to escape, but to expand. To look up. To pay attention. To let the beauty of the world reawaken something deep inside us.

Because the earth is always speaking - through light, through color, through stillness and sound. And when we really listen, we remember: we are part of a story that stretches across glaciers and rainforests, through ancient villages and star-filled skies. A story that includes sea turtles and hummingbirds, winds that have been whispering long before I arrived - and will keep blowing long after I’m gone.

And that kind of remembering? That might be the most healing thing of all.

So yes, Carla and I are excited about this new adventure - and let’s be honest, the idea of spending December through February in shorts and T-shirts instead of bundling up for winter feels like a pretty sweet bonus. Sunshine instead of snow? We’ll take it. It’s a gift, and we’re grateful for it.

*These photos aren’t mine, but later this year when we’re in South America, I’ll return to flooding these pages with my own shots.