When do we begin?

I guess it really is tiny, incredibly ordinary events that can bring us back to the richest moments of our lives.

This weekend I happened to pass over Crum Creek, which we found purely by accident while driving through southeastern PA. We'd never been to this part of the state before and decided to find a park to explore and hike. I hadn't planned what would become my tiny, humble way of paying homage to my dear, remarkable friend, Dave, on the day after the anniversary of his death. Wandering carelessly hand-in-hand, poking around the ruins of 18th century buildings, appreciating the graceful bending of the trees, and admiring the adventurousness of a mother and child as they navigated their way across the slippery stones in the creek, we found something we hadn't experienced in a long time: tranquility. A few hours of repose amidst what had been a very unsettling week for us, it felt like being gently held in the palm of something so much greater than us. Something that whispered that not knowing the future is the only thing we really can know about the future. And somehow this was comforting.

This is my last week of what has been an incredible four-year journey of learning, both professional and personal in nature, camaraderie, and of course child-like goofiness. Although I couldn't be more excited and ready to embark on my new career, I know that I'm closing the door on something irreplaceable all the same.