Home

When I was in Sedona, I crossed paths with a woman in her 80s, named Mara. She is a retired flight attendant, married with two kids, now grown with children of their own. She was fit and with it – left her husband somewhere way back on the Bell Rock trail – and I found her fascinating, walking alongside her for almost a mile back to our cars in the parking lot.

“Out of all the places you’ve traveled, which have been your favorite?” I asked.

“Home.”

For whatever reason, I wasn’t expecting this answer. I was already trying to guess in my head: Amsterdam, Sydney, Paris. But as soon as she said the word, it was obvious this was the only one.

“Where’s home for you?”

“Minneapolis. But really, my family. Minneapolis is just where we decided to live.”

I’ve thought about Mara a lot this year, what a gentle soul and lively spirit she had; a trail boss sharing wisdom with a fellow woman, who went home to Denver and found herself rethinking it entirely; who fiercely traveled to 13 different places in search of where it might be. But it is not a place, we know this.

“There he is,” she said, pointing to her husband, who was smiling and walking towards us, waving. Home is who you do life with.