the courthouse project.

When I was a little girl, my family used to take the most wonderful vacations. Not expensive, not lengthy, but wonderful nonetheless, due in large part to the adventuresome (but always practical) nature of my parents. Our vacations were full of educational detours, quirky pitstops, and historical landmarks. My love of national parks? That comes from my parents. My insistence on eating at local hole-in-the-wall establishments? That's my parents. 

It's funny, then, all these years later, to see myself following in my parents' footsteps. To realize that in spite of our differences from my parents as a couple, Jordan and I are eerily similar in the way we choose and plan our vacations. 

If you follow me on Instagram, you know our summer has already been filled with adventures. We've traveled up, down, and across the great state of Florida, witnessed fireworks along the Savannah riverwalk, and chased rabbit trails around south Georgia. What you may not know is just how many of our travels this summer -- and really, for the past three years -- have revolved around something I lovingly call The Courthouse Project. 

Since passing the bar exam back in 2010, Jordan has been healthily obsessed with visiting every county courthouse in Florida. It's an interest that comes, I think, partly from Jordan's career as an attorney, but also from his (and our) love of old things. Photographing each courthouse became something we did on weekends and on road trips, and soon, Jordan envisioned tackling all 67, compiling them into some sort of photo collage or another. Neither one of us is a photographer; a shame, since so many of Florida's courthouses are really, truly beautiful. But the photography, I don't think, was nearly as important as the adventure. 

The state we used to call home -- the state I have called home my whole life -- is diverse and vast; I don't know what other place in our country (perhaps other than California) can boast such a plethora of flora and fauna,  such a wide range of terrain. Because of The Courthouse Project, we've seen it all. We've driven across my beloved Panhandle, through tourist traps and into quiet, sleepy, dying towns; we've glimpsed the white sands of the Gulf and the crystal clear water of the Atlantic. We've rolled our windows down next to alligator-filled creeks and seen the shadows of orange groves at midnight. We've raised our eyebrows at the excess of Palm Beach and walked across the cobblestone streets of St. Augustine.

I doubt very many people have traveled the state -- any state! -- like we have; visiting each county seat takes a certain amount of stamina and patience. Not every city is beautiful; not every stop offers some hidden gem. We have, in so many ways, seen it all, and every time we'd arrive at some new location -- undoubtedly off the beaten path -- I'd think of my parents and the vacations I used to take with them as a child. 

Jordan and I have been married nearly six years; we've known each other for almost 10. In our time together, we've been to San Antonio and Venice, to Atlanta and San Francisco. We spent our honeymoon in Newport and our first anniversary in a windy, cold Chicago. We've hidden away in Tybee Island and taken day trips to Seaside and St. George. Our phones and our walls are full of pictures of Savannah and Florence and Boston and Nashville and New Orleans and Naples and Rome. Our trips, most often, are taken on the cheap; we are not expensive travelers; we can't afford to be. But our adventures together are incredibly special, and this weekend, as we traveled back down to Florida from a weekend with friends, we stopped for our very last courthouse. 

I can be a bit of a sentimental fool. I hide it well, I think, but there are boxes of love letters and a newspaper editorial I dedicated to Jordan's old car that all insist deep down, I am soft. I hold special places in my heart for the things and the people I love. It's bittersweet, then, to put the last courthouse pin on the map, sad to put away the coloring sheet Jordan's been keeping to highlight the counties we've been to and the ones we still need to visit. They're all filled in now, and the historic Nassau County Courthouse in downtown Fernandina Beach officially marked the end of an era for us.

We'll spend the next few weeks, maybe months, debating what to do with Jordan's courthouse pictures, how best to compile them all into albums or prints. He'll be the first to admit not all of the photographs he's taken are frame-worthy, but there's something about seeing them all together that's pretty spectacular. Sixty-seven counties, each one with a treasured history, an architecture and agriculture all its own. 

This courthouse project has been a part of our vacations and road trips for three years, guiding us, little by little, on where to go next. Now we've reached the end, and I wonder just what we'll tackle next. It's funny; this project is a little reminiscent of where we are in life right now; the end of one chapter, the beginning of another. Life can be silly and special like that, if we notice. 

Everyone's adventures are different. The routes we all take are unique and varied; no two of us really choose the same ways. But I'm glad I've found someone who will get off at the next interstate exit and explore a little bit of the unknown, someone who will travel to the places we often, as a hurried people, forget. I'm grateful my parents taught me to travel away from the usual path, and I'm happy Jordan and I know, even as one journey ends: the adventure's really just beginning. 

All 67 pictures of The Courthouse Project can be found on Facebook; Jordan would love if you took a minute to scroll through and vote for your favorite courthouse. (Mine is pictured above.)

saving my life: wanderlust.

{photo by Matt Ducklo}

On Wednesday, I confessed Jordan and I often feel a little bit left behind here in Tallahassee, despite our current contentment in our jobs and with our home. As a result, I often find myself daydreaming of somewhere else, and never do I daydream more than on my morning walks, as I glance inside strangers' windows (is this odd?) and breathe in fresh air.

Everything takes me back somewhere else. Foggy mornings remind me of our trip to San Francisco, and I find myself wondering what it might be like to walk the hilly paths of that city instead of my own every morning. Homes with window boxes take me back to the three weeks we spent studying abroad in Italy; honking horns from faraway streets remind me of New York. Yellow leaves soaked with dew are reminiscent of Boston, and cold wooden floors scream Chicago. 

Despite my contentment with my surroundings, I am a constant dreamer, and the only thing that seems to satiate my wanderlust is travel. Thankfully, I married someone who feels the same way. 

Who knows where the next few years could take us? Maybe we'll move, get new jobs, have a baby. I don't really know. But I'm grateful that while our life has us in Tallahassee at jobs we enjoy and with people we love, I can still a dream a little. And when the dreaming isn't quite enough, we can put gas in my car. We can buy an airplane ticket or two. And we can find ourselves in Atlanta or Charleston or Savannah or San Francisco or Boston or New York or New Orleans. 

It's a gift to be able to travel, and this weekend, I'm heading to Seaside for an annual vacation with some friends in the hope my wanderlust will be temporarily satisfied. Nothing seems to work much better than getting out and exploring new places. Perhaps walking new trails this weekend will save my life, like it has so many times before.

bringing it back home.

Last weekend, I took a girls' trip to Chicago with some friends I hadn't seen in a while. The morning before we made our separate ways back home, we talked about how hard it is sometimes to leave these happy moments behind and return to our seemingly mundane routines of work and school, family and home. Of course, ever-flowing with information I picked up on the internet, I mentioned an article I'd read online earlier in the week written by a woman who'd returned home from Europe, intent on building her life around the principles she'd discovered while traveling abroad. Kind of like Eat Pray Love, but practical and on a budget. 

Her premise got me thinking: Why do I have such a hard time leaving these bigger cities behind? What is it I love about them, and how can I bring a little piece of the cities I love so much -- New York, Chicago, Boston -- home? 

Therefore, a little list of resolutions to make these next few months in Tallahassee feel a little bit more like, say, Chicago: 

- Walk to work. My new job has all sorts of perks and benefits I'm enjoying (along with stresses and frustrations, because this is the real world and not You've Got Mail); one of those benefits is a convenient location to our new place. The bookstore is a 15 minute walk from our neighborhood, and it's a beautiful, safe walk too -- a little bit rare in Tallahassee. So why haven't I taken advantage of it? Heat and humidity, sure, but laziness too. No more. In Chicago, I commented over and over again how much I loved its walkability, all the while failing to acknowledge: My neighborhood is walkable! And people in bigger cities? They walk to trains and busses and offices come rain, heat, sun, or snow. What's my excuse? So today (and yesterday), I walked to work. And it was delightful. 

- Time on the patio and in the park. One downside to some of the bigger cities I love is a lack of personal green space. Instead, though, residents spend time on their balconies and patios (if they're lucky), and they visit their local parks. Jordan and I have a great patio, two adirondack chairs on the front lawn, and a park literally right outside our front door. And unlike Boston, New York, or Chicago, Tallahassee is gorgeous and mild in the fall and winter; there's no reason why we can't spend more time in the fresh air.

- Take advantage of unique opportunities right where I am. If The Civil Wars are coming to Tallahassee in January, I need to buy a ticket. A walking ghost tour downtown? Sure it's cheesy, but it sounds fun. Instead of pining over cultural events elsewhere, why not spend my time and money supporting my local economy so my community's leaders will continue to provide those types of opportunities? Sure, there are Seminole football games, but what about symphony concerts and park openings and food truck Thursdays? Too often, I make excuses --  I'm too tired, something's too expensive -- for not doing something. My gut impulse most evenings, I think, is to be a homebody. And while I don't want to apologize for or change that about myself, I also want to be adventurous, to get up off my couch and to enjoy the town I've been given to live in. One day, my city of residence might change. But right now? It's pretty great. 

I've got a few other resolutions set for fall (inspired partly by friends and mostly by Gretchen Rubin's Happier at Home), but these are three simple ways I think could set my heart at ease while I'm living in a smaller city. 

What about you? If you're a big city dweller, how do you make your city feel like home? And if you're a small city dweller, how do you make your city feel a little less tiny?

san francisco recap and recommendations.

I have this tendency to turn every vacation spot into a future home. I become unbelievably attached to these places, leaving little bits of myself all over the country. When I come back to our daily lives and routines, I am grateful for the clean sheets, but I am also a little bit lost, desperately missing these places we've left ourselves. 

San Francisco turned out to be no different from the rest. It's the first place I've visited where I haven't immediately wanted to adopt the zip code -- that time change was rough for this east coast gal! -- but by the time our flight home was set to take off, I discovered I'd become attached just like always. Old habits die hard, I suppose. 

This was my first trip to the Pacific coast, and I'm hoping it's not my last. The landscape there is like nothing I'd ever seen, and I felt like I was walking around with my mouth open the whole time. I'd also assumed San Francisco would have the big city vibe of New York and Boston and Chicago, this hustle-and-bustle feeling I admittedly love. Instead, the city felt ridiculously laid back and cool. It's like San Franciscans care far more about their surroundings than their schedules; they're more concerned with taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and incredible natural landmarks than their iPhones. 

I'm sure I'm looking back on it all with rose-colored glasses, but that's why we take vacations, isn't it? To take a step back from our routines, no matter how wonderful they are, and to become someone else for a few days? Someone who has time to breathe the fresh air and hike the hills, to eat at good restaurants and drive for miles with no real destination. 

Traveling is one of my favorite things about this life. The planning, the execution, the exploration, the transportation, the investigation. The tourist traps and the local haunts, the quirky characters and the miles of undiscovered territory. 

I love it all, and I am so grateful I married someone who loves it too. 

I've traveled enough to know that a lovely travel partner is a rare gift, and I count it among my many blessings that Jordan and I make an incredible team when we visit new places. This trip was special for so many reasons, so many firsts (first step in the Pacific, first In-and-Out burger), but I can't forget that these trips are a blessing because of who I get to take them with. 

And if you're planning a trip to the coast, Jordan and I came up with a list of our favorite things to do and see while you're there. 

Jordan's recommendations:

- Alcatraz nighttime tour - Well-worth the money, the nighttime tour to Alcatraz gives you a creepy and fascinating look at one of America's most unique federal penitentiaries. Plus the ferry views on the way over are pretty spectacular. Make sure to book this one well in advance. 

- Highway 1 - Rent a car to enjoy breathtaking views of California's coast; this was one of my and Jordan's favorite parts of the trip. We drove about two hours south of San Francisco, past Carmel by the Sea. Carmel is a favorite among tourists, but I preferred Santa Cruz for eating and shopping. (Jordan agrees.)

- Lombard Street - The most crooked street in America, Lombard Street is terrifying to access -- so many tourists who don't know what they're doing! -- but worth it for the views and for the chance to say you've done it. Jordan drove our rental car, but you can also walk down. (Though the walk up would be pretty exhausting.)

Annie's recommendations: 

- Muir Woods - My family always did something outdoorsy on our vacations growing up, so Muir Woods was probably my favorite stop of the whole trip. Creation has so many sanctuaries and cathedrals to admire, and this is one you won't ever forget. It's absolutely breathtaking.

- The Golden Gate Bridge - I obviously knew we'd get a chance to see the bridge while we were in San Francisco, but I didn't really think it'd be one of my favorites. Wrong. The bridge itself is a piece of really beautiful architecture, and every day we were in town, we got a different view thanks to the famous San Francisco fog. The surrounding park is also fun, and we were able to get our national park stamps here too.

- Coit Tower - You've got to walk up some pretty steep steps to get there, but Coit Tower offers amazing views of the city. We both think it's worth the extra cash to ride the elevator to the top of the tower, but the views along the way are spectacular on their own.

- Grace Cathedral - Jordan and I always like to visit historic cathedrals in the area we're visiting, and this one was so different from any I've seen in any other city. The artwork was modern and featured the city itself rather than many religious figures, and the multi-faith chapel was worth a stop as well. 

Favorite food spots: 

- Bob's Donuts - great for a quick breakfast

- Tartine Bakery - worth the wait; get there early and maybe try a week day

- Boxed Foods Company - great lunch spot in the financial district

- Boudin Bakery - touristy, but amazing; get a sourdough bread bowl with chowder

- In-and-Out - so good, though I'm sure many of you knew that already; I got mine animal style

saving my life: comfort zones + the color run.

I ran out of time to post about what was saving my life last week, which is unfortunate, because I know exactly what I would have written.

What saved my life last week was stepping outside of my comfort zone and doing things I didn't necessarily think I'd ever do. Near the top of the list? Running a 5k. So the weekend before Easter, Jordan and I met up with three of our friends, piled into his car, and headed up to Atlanta to join in The Color Run, a 5k with a focus on fun, not speed.

If I have the cheesiest, biggest, abnormally-wide grin you've ever seen in the above photos, know this: It's completely genuine. Being pelted with paint as you jog along the streets of Atlanta has that effect on a person.

The Color Run isn't necessarily a race for serious runners. (A fact I think should be obvious since you're pelted with paint every kilometer.) Instead, it's more about gathering together with friends and strangers and having a good time. I think our faces show that purpose was certainly met.

Here's what I'm learning: Sometimes, it's good to stay in your comfort zone. You have those zones for a reason. By the time you're in your mid-20s, you understand better who you are and who you want to be. Sometimes, it's good to listen to the voice inside of you begging for attention, begging to be heard above the fray. It's good to know what would upset us or challenge us or make us happy. It's okay, I think, sometimes, to be comfortable, especially when that comfort looks a lot like contentment.

But it's good, too, to occasionally step outside the box, to do things you'd never really do otherwise. It's good to be brave, to take chances, and to do something just a little different from your norm.

As a general rule, I don't run. I also don't make a habit of getting colored cornstarch thrown in my face.

But for one Saturday, I broke both of those rules. I'm really glad I did. I think, sometimes, breaking the rules looks a lot like saving your life.

nashville.

I waver between being content right where I am and hoping for the next big adventure.

It’s why traveling is good for me. It gives me a taste of something new, but I still get to come home to a life I really like.

Sometimes, though, it’s hard to come home.

Nashville was one of those trips. My cousin and I went last weekend to spend some with my brother and to explore Lipscomb University, one of the colleges my cousin is considering as she graduates from high school this year. It was a fun trip, full of laughs and excitement and good food and kind people.

It made me so happy for my brother, so happy for the life he is living in Nashville, for the church he gets to attend and the people he gets to know. It made me happy for my cousin, who’s about to embark on such a fun and life-changing experience. Wherever she goes to college, it will be good. It will be redeemed by the One who makes all things good. And as I walked among the brick buildings and the tall trees, I thought about my own college experience, about the growing up I did, emotionally and spiritually. I thought about how good God is to us, how He takes our decisions and works them for His purpose.

When I was 18, Lipscomb was my top choice. (It must run in the family.) I loved its gorgeous campus, loved the casual atmosphere and the emphasis on spirituality. I loved the worship services and the open-mindedness. It was my number one school, and it was expensive.

The day I drove onto Faulkner University’s campus, I told my parents: “Absolutely not. I will never come here.” I got out of the car — I stubbornly had refused to exit the vehicle at a previous campus visit of a university I won’t name — and walked into the tiny library, visited the trailer serving as a work-out facility, then traveled down the unpaved road to the honors college, and for some unknown reason, my heart started to open.

I could have gone to Lipscomb. My life might look a lot different than it does now, but I could have gone there and been happy. I am convinced that there are lots of choices God leaves up to us. If we are prayerful and we are wise and we are earnest, God will hear the cries of our hearts, and He will grant us peace in our decision-making. I could have chosen Lipscomb, and everything would have turned out fine.

But I didn’t. For whatever reason, despite ranking third in my pro-con list and looking like nothing I’d ever seen in my Ivy League dreams, Faulkner became my answer. It became my home, the place where I did so much of my growing up.

Part of me envies my cousin, envies that she gets to start over like I did. New beginnings are such remarkable gifts. We don’t often see them that way in the moment, because they are stressful and hard and overwhelming. But when time passes, we see. We understand what they have done to our hearts, those fresh leaves all new and turned over, and we know that God has been good and given us what we wanted before we knew we wanted it.

And there is another, bigger part of me that is grateful that part of life is said and done. Those new beginnings are long gone, and others are on the horizon. I can visit a college campus without making a list of my likes and dislikes. I can look at Lipscomb and see that it is good, but Faulkner was good, too. I chose well. For a person who overachieves and overanalyzes, this is a relief. I chose well. The decision has been made, and the consequences are in effect. And they are good.

Jordan and I have talked here and there about the part that comes next. We’ve made a lot of decisions since our engagement four years ago, and we are happy with them. I am content with where our decisions have led us, just like I am content with the decision I made when I was young and silly and 18.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t new leaves on the horizon, waiting to be turned. There are decisions to make about church and home and family, not all at once, of course, but eventually.

The old me, I think, might have been scared, nervous, concerned. I might have pulled out pen and paper for the pro-con list, might have analyzed which decisions could be wrong and which could be right.

I hope it is a sign of growth and maturity that I’m not reaching for a pen and paper.

Instead, I am approaching this life one day at a time, content, for a change, in the not knowing, content to be in Tallahassee and at our church and in our neighborhood and in our jobs right now, but with hope for the future, wherever it may be and whatever it may resemble. I am at peace, I think, because I can look behind me and see the good that has been done. And I have not done any of it.

He is so good to us, making light for our paths while keeping some of it dark. He takes the decisions and the choices we make, and He crafts them in ways we never would.

It was hard to leave Nashville. It was hard to leave my brother and the good food and the big-city-but-still-neighborly atmosphere. It was hard to leave his church, to know that we don’t really have that here right now. It was hard because it was so good.

Then I came home to a smiling husband, to friends who are becoming such precious kindred spirits, to an apartment we’ve worked hard to make ours. I came home to a Bible study I love, to dinner out with friends, to plans for 5ks and birthday trips and St. Patrick’s Day.

I realized this is good too.

And wherever we go next? Well, I suspect it will be good too.

starting over.

It hasn't been the 2012 I envisioned, not at all. 

Here's the thing about a new year and fresh starts: Sometimes the old stuff has this way of following you around. The cloud of distractions and frustrations that began in November tiptoed along into December, then rallied their way into January. 

Last Wednesday, my grandmother "peacefully exited this life and entered the arms of her Lord." That's how I wrote it in the obituary, because that's what I believe happened. Her fighting for life here finally stopped, and I have to believe that peace and celebration followed.

I am hoping that is what follows for those of us left behind, too. 

We are ready for peace. We are ready for celebration, yes, but I'm convinced that won't really come until later. For now, all I am asking for is peace.

Due to circumstances outside of my family's control, my grandmother's funeral wasn't until Monday. That left the family with four full days to wait and to grieve, four long days on top of the 20 or so we'd spent waiting and grieving since her December fall. I had a beach trip with girlfriends planned, and after some consideration and prayer, I decided to go. It was a trip cut short -- I knew I needed to be with family, so I spent one night instead of two -- but just that one night spent away felt like just what the doctor had ordered. 

I sat with precious friends and talked about my grandmother, about marriage, about friendships and life and happiness. We spent an hour or so wandering the local bookstore, ate chicken salad by the beach, set feet in cold sand until it felt like our toes might fall off. I sat outside in the frigid morning air and breathed deeply, covered in blankets on the pink porch swing. We laughed and shared and read, and more than once, we looked at each other and said, "Why can't real life look like this?" 

It could be depressing, I guess, if we compared our real lives with our vacations. But if we use those vacations as a starting point, if we count on the beach air to bring us back to ourselves, sometimes real life becomes a little easier to bear. 

This week has been hard. Grief is not easy, and the real world doesn't wait for the tears to dry. But my time spent at Seaside -- even those few, brief hours -- reminded me of the things that make this life so spectacular: gorgeous sunsets, good books, delicious meals, fresh air, and the company of dear friends. Those few hours gave me the new start that January 1 just couldn't. 

Sometimes all we need to press on is just a change in perspective. For me, that change often coincides with a trip to the water. I'm glad I listened to my gut last week, glad I made that trip, even though the circumstances were less than perfect. 

I hope I can carry that feeling with me during the coming days, even when water and fresh air might be a little hard to find.

The truth is, it's time to start over. It's time to seek peace and pursue it. It's time to leave the past behind, to press on to what's ahead.

Celebration will follow, but for now? For now I'll happily settle for peace.

visiting your national parks.

We were patrolling the souvenir shop at the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kill Devils Hill, looking for a Christmas ornament to hang on our tree, something to remember our little trip by. 

Then Jordan spotted it. 

I don't know how he thought I'd be able to resist it. 

$8.95 for a passport to the national parks? A way to keep track of all the parks you visit across the country? Essentially, a list, with pretty stamps and stickers?

Um, yes. Yes, we will take one of those. 

And you'd have thought the little old lady at the checkout counter was going to just bust with pride, so excited to be giving us our pocket-sized passport, instructing us on where to place stamps, how to get them at each stop, etc. 

The whole product idea and philosophy is genius. 

I treasure my "real" passport, the one that shows my stamps from Italy, that takes me back to 2005, when I was 19 and traversing a foreign land, full of excitement and wonder and anticipation. I cannot bear to get a new one, even though I am no longer legally Annie Sue Butterworth, even though passports expire anyway. I just don't understand why we can't collect all of our travels in one, well-worn map, so that we have something to show for the end of our days. 

But this passport doesn't expire. It doesn't have our names or birth dates or social security numbers. 

Instead it has maps and pictures of some of the prettiest places this country has to offer. It keeps track of where we've been, where we're going, and where we want to go still. 

When Jordan and I stood at the counter, carefully placing our first stamp on page 46, in the Southeastern section of our book, I got so excited. I love that Jordan and I travel together, and well. Travel companions are not always easy to come by, and I know that I am lucky that my husband and I happen to travel so easily and amiably together. I love that we both treasure things like parks and stamps and passports, that Jordan knew the moment he saw that book it would be something we could enjoy doing together. 

So far, we have four stamps in our passport (plus a couple of commemorative stamps, since this year happens to be the passport's 25th anniversary). We traveled long and hard to get those stamps, and at each stop we were greeted by wonderful park volunteers and rangers, eager to watch us embark on our journey of getting to know this nation a little bit better.

I realize this may all sound a little nerdy, maybe even a little gimmicky to you, like it's some ridiculous ploy by our nation's park's department to get people back into the habit of traveling across the country, visiting sites of historical and national importance. 

Well, if that's a gimmick, then please: Sign me up. 

I want to support and to see all this beautiful country has to show its inhabitants. Already, in this one trip, we were able to secure stamps at a national seashore, at the historic Roanoke site (which also happened to be a stop on the Underground Railroad), and at the site of the Wright Brother's first flight.

 

Each time we stopped in to receive our stamp, I was reminded of the trips my parents used to take me and my brother on as children, and I couldn't help but think about how much my parents would love their own passport, would have loved keeping a record of our family's travels across the southeast, through the Blue Ridge Parkway and Natchez Trace, up to Gettysburg and across to Colorado.

I'm glad Jordan and I went ahead and bought one, glad my husband loves this whole idea as much as (more than?) I do. I'm glad we're starting our own little record, glad my parents somehow passed this legacy of love and appreciation for nature and for history on to me. 

Sometimes, I bet parents don't think their lessons to us stick. I bet they think we're not listening, that we're too busy reading books or listening to iPods, ignoring the very things they're trying to get us to appreciate. 

Mom and Dad, take heart: There's a little black passport in our glove compartment that says otherwise. 

---

You can purchase your own Passport to the National Parks online here, or at most national parks visitors' centers across the country. 

capitva + nags head.

{Captiva Island, Florida}

Twenty years ago, I think I could easily have been one of those obnoxious people who turned  vacation photographs into slides, delivering endless presentations to surrounding friends and neighbors, detailing every last minute of latest travel adventures while serving warm cookies and lemonade to all who cared to listen. 

I kind of love slideshows -- done well -- and I think I could have been a darn good narrator of my travels. Unfortunately, nobody really pays attention to stuff like that anymore, which is probably why I have this blog. 

This is a slideshow, and you are my semi-captive audience. 

---

Jordan and I had been planning this little fall getaway for weeks before I realized I had a business trip scheduled for the same weekend we were supposed to depart. Never one to be deterred from hard-earned vacation time, I decided we could just combine the two. Seriously, who complains about a business trip to Captiva Island? 

No one, that's who. 

So I did my thing in Captiva for a couple of days while Jordan slept at our awesome hotel room. Then we got up at 5:00 in the morning (which I've learned some people call "o'dark thirty." To which I say: Really? Are we too lazy to say the actual time?) and made the 16-hour trip to Nags Head, a small town on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. 

I've been dying to visit the Outer Banks ever since my internship at Coastal Living, and the off-season was the perfect (read: most inexpensive) time for us to go. 

We found accommodations through VRBO, which I'm going to warn you, was no easy task. Here's the thing about the Outer Banks: People must travel there in large quantities. Every accommodation was for 8 to 10 people, unless you want to shell out a bit more cash for a bed and breakfast or a hotel room. Jordan and I weren't interested in either, so we finally Googled our way to Sea Spray Cottages. If you're planning a trip to the Outer Banks, I'd highly recommend them. You have to bring your own sheets and towels, but it was really inexpensive, and it gave us a nice home to come back to at the end of our travels each day.

We really didn't have much of an agenda this trip. (Those of you who know me are scoffing right now, but I assure you: It's true.) We had one primary goal: Relax.

So we did. 

We rented movies and slept late and went to bed relatively early. I read three books and sat curled up on the couch for long periods of time. 

As it turns out, these are excellent plans to have in Nags Head during November. A lot of businesses are closed. Even finding a restaurant open after 6:00 proved to be a challenge.

But the weather was gorgeous. 

And there happens to be an abundance of national parks in the Outer Banks area, providing plenty of entertainment for two nerds like us (more on this to come).

Jordan and I try to make a couple of trips a year. One trip is always a little more strenuous, a little more planned. It often involves itineraries and air travel and a bit more funding. The other trip, though, requires mostly just time off. A little money, sure, and gas enough to get us where we need to be, but otherwise, the trip is a relaxing endeavor. 

I love both kinds of trips. I need both kinds of trips. 

I need to grow and stretch and watch people in airports and get stamps in a passport and see what life is like on the other side. 

But I also need to drive a little. I need to rest and relax and breathe deep in the salt air.

This trip was just what I needed, at just the right time. 

I'm already planning a return visit.

For my fellow travelers:

To stay :: South Seas Island Resort, Captiva and Sea Spray Cottages, Nags Head

To eat :: Cabbage Key (Captiva), Ducks Donuts, Mulligan's Bar & Grill, Poor Richard's Sandwich Shop

To visit :: Jockey's Ridge State Park, Wright Brothers National Memorial, Cape Hatteras Seashore, Fort Raleigh National Historic Site, Island Bookstore

italy.

Do you have those places that sit just on the edge of your memory? Places you can envision as clearly as if they were floating in the space right in front of your nose?

Six years ago, I spent three weeks in Italy as part of an accelerated academic program through my university. The trip was expensive, and the days went by at break-neck speed, but it was worth it.

I got a stamp in my passport, but really, I think I also somehow got a stamp in my soul.

Even today, I can still taste the fresh pasta on my tongue, the cold gelato trickling down my throat.

I remember the sweltering heat, ducking into small shops just to feel cold air on my face.

If I listen closely, I can hear the sounds of voices blended together, singing praises to God in a language I couldn’t quite recognize but still tried desperately to imitate.

I remember crawling about the catacombs, riding buses with tiny, precious nuns, stopping to take pictures of window boxes overflowing with flowers.

The quaint bars and shops, the outdoor markets, the time spent soaking in a culture so different from my own.

Sometimes my memory plays tricks on me, and I forget how far away six years ago really is, how over 2,000 days have passed since I climbed aboard an airplane in southern Alabama and made my way across an ocean to another life. I was young and high off my freshman year of college. I was giddy with excitement, thrilled to the tips of my toes to finally make one of my dreams come true.

A lot has happened in those six years, and even though my day-to-day life in a tiny town in Florida doesn’t much resemble the days I spent roaming the streets of Florence, I know I’m living my dream come true. And one day, maybe not so very far from now, Jordan and I will collect our change, pool our funds, cash in our savings, and traipse back to the towns we fell in love with way back when.

I will learn Italian, eat gelato, sit in hushed sanctuaries, and breathe it all in.