Grand Canyon Chronicles: Learning to Embrace Life, More

(Read my full story on the You Must Be Trippin’ blog)

Our first trip to the Grand Canyon was only a few hours long, but it left a lasting impression on all of us. We vowed then, on that first visit, that we would return one day to this iconic American landmark. This past December we did, and the memories we came back with are ones that we will cherish for a lifetime. This is my latest article as a contributor to the Best Western blog You Must Be Trippin’. Please click the link to read the full story.

Grand Canyon Chronicles: Learning to Embrace Life, More

Los caminos de la vida no son como yo pensaba. Como los imaginaba. No son como yo creía.

The journey of life is not how I thought it would be. It’s not how I imagined it. It’s not what I thought it would be. This song came on the radio at one point while we were driving along the southern rim of the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago before the end of 2017, and it put everything into perspective. The last time I really listened to the lyrics of Los Caminos de la Vida by La Tropa Vallenata I was headed to the cemetery in the funeral procession for my father. I remember thinking then, that life is too short to not do the things we want to do.

I wanted to bring my father to the Grand Canyon. He left before I ever could.

His passing was one of those things in life that hit me like a ton of bricks. I never imagined his time with us would be cut short, or so soon. And yet it was.

A few months later it was Anjelica and her family who were facing the unbearable pain of losing my sister-in-law at the much too young age of 38. It was more heartache than we had ever encountered, and more than we ever want to encounter again. In an outburst of spontaneity and simultaneous clarity I suggested we leave Houston and spend the New Year traveling outside of Texas. If we don’t do it now, while we can, I reasoned, we never will.

That’s the thing about creating lifelong memories. You have to create them with purpose.

Some of the fondest memories of my own father are of traveling with him. The way he used to have my mother pour cold water on him (sometimes with ice) when he was getting sleepy; the music he would play and sing along to; the stern voice in which he called our attention when we were getting too rowdy in the back seats because inevitably nobody wanted to share their two or three centimeters of personal space; and his boisterous way of announcing when we had reached an important destination or landmark – say like a gas station with a restroom – for everyone to take notice.

He always loved to travel, although in truth he never was able to do a lot of it for leisure.

Continue reading my full story on the You Must Be Trippin’ blog.

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