It’s funny how often, when you talk to people and you’re able to really get down to brass tacks….go below the surface of what people are willing to show day-to-day, how they all seem to have a place where they wish they could be but for some reason “just can’t get there”.

It may be a place that they’ve read about or actually visited, driven through maybe…or took a hike there or stopped and had the best breakfast they’ve ever eaten.

Sometimes, it’s not even the place…it’s just the circumstances that aligned perfectly and the company they were keeping…it’s not the place, it’s the memories that somehow got attached to the place.

And memory is a strange and changeable thing.

We mold our memories to be what serves our purposes.

The place we “are” can feel like a prison…until we can’t be there anymore and it becomes a paradise…full of our nostalgia.

It’s a rare thing to talk to people who are consistently happy where they are.

It’s hard to be happy in the moment.

Often, it’s “where we are” or “what we have” or “where we’re going” or “I could get there if I…” or “who we’re with” or…or, a whole list of other sets of circumstances that might allow us to really…finally…be happy.

“No matter how good things are….things can always be better.”

That’s a rough way to live.

It’s hard to live up to a potential that you don’t even really understand.

It’s not good to expect things to be better when you can’t see how good things already are.

I used to think that I needed to live back out West…the elusive and mystical “West”.

The times I’ve been able to visit the “West”, I was always happy to get back home.

Maybe I just wanted to be somewhere “away”?

That’s been a pretty consistent thread, now that I think about it.

I think that for most of my life, I just wanted to be somewhere “away”.

Weird.

You can’t really be happy where you are if your boots are always parked by the front door.

Driving the mail around, there are places where I can feel the cool air coming off the streams in some of these little “hollers” that I drive through.

There is a certain smell and the air feels different and it makes me glad that I live where I live.

It’s beautiful here in the Spring.

I think that it’s probably beautiful everywhere in the Spring, though.

Even the worst of places is a little bit nicer when the Winter ends and things green up.

I love Idaho.

It’s really beautiful out there…and it feels good to be out on the old home place, walking around.

There’s some good family history out in Idaho.

But you know….my family history is right here so far. This is my family history that’s happening everyday.

Big or small…this is my life… where my family is.

Like the picture…everything else is a blur…