The last day of February, I was a man on a mission. Plans were stacking up quick—I needed to scout the Oregon coast until Google Maps told me it was time to turn inland and make my 4 p.m. appointment at Land Cruisers Northwest. The next day, I’d committed to meeting up with two college buddies (both named Andrew, conveniently) for a day in the backcountry at Mt. Baker. And in between, I had a planned crash spot at my friend Ben’s place in Tacoma.

The waves along the coast weren’t great, but the local recs were. A few conversations made me excited to come back on a looser timeline when conditions were better. Out of everything I scribbled down, “The Camp,” Yachats, and Bob Creek stood out.

The guy who mentioned Bob Creek was a state park worker who told me about the man who lives in the little cottage across the highway from the break. Apparently, whenever there are waves—no matter how big or small—this older gentleman shuffles across the road with his board. The second he hits the water, he sheds years and surfs like a wide-eyed teenager. I didn’t catch it that day, but the image stuck with me. It’s the simple things that keep us young. And as much as I value travel for growth and perspective, that story made me excited to get back to community and the everyday things that bring contentment.

That said, travel—especially the way I do it—isn’t always enjoyable. It’s challenging and often uncomfortable, but memorable in all the right ways. That’s why I try to avoid creating content that feels showy or curated. I’m not trying to make people jealous—I want to share experiences in a way that feels authentic. Doing that well is something I still struggle with. The psychology of social media rarely encourages honesty, and navigating a creative space without feeding your ego—while still trying to make a living—is harder than people think.

Eventually, I made it to Portland and dropped the Cruiser off at Land Cruisers Northwest. Shoutout to the team there—they not only fixed the idle issue, but took the time to explain it in a way I could actually understand. Professional, knowledgeable, and exactly the kind of shop you want working on your rig.

That night I drove to Tacoma and stayed at Ben’s. He was still deployed, but I got to catch up with his wife, Blaire, and my honorary nephew—Rip, their Rottweiler mix who’s more personality than pup.

Ben, Blaire, and I first met years ago in San Antonio. At the time, I never expected we’d stay this close, but we’ve kept in touch through several moves and time zones. Ben and I have grown a lot since those days—and it’s always been reassuring knowing I have people like him in my corner. He’s the kind of friend who’d drop everything to help if I needed it—and who’ll also spend hours sending me out-of-budget Land Cruiser listings on Facebook Marketplace, like the older brother I never had. Blaire, I’m pretty sure, sees me as the little brother she never asked for—but somehow ended up with anyway.

They’re one of those couples I really admire. Ben’s sarcastic, unfiltered style somehow blends perfectly with Blaire’s quieter, more intuitive energy. I missed Ben this time around, but it was great catching up with Blaire over a beer and filling each other in on life—gossip and all.

Blaire’s one of those people who comes across reserved at first because she doesn’t put everything on display right away. But once you know her, you realize how much depth she carries. She’s incredibly intuitive, thoughtful, and hilarious when you get her talking. People like that are often underestimated—but they end up being some of my favorite connections.

After a good chat, a couple beers, and some quality time scratching Rip’s belly, I got to bed early. Mt. Baker was up next—and I was finally about to get some real time in the snow with old friends.