If you’re reading this, I’m assuming that you already know Sara, Sadie, Roxy and I are about to embark on a new adventure.
And, you probably think we’re absolutely crazy.
Aren’t they 40 by now, with a 2-year old? Are they fugitives from the law? Did Jason’s business go under? Should we setup a GoFundMe for them?
The truth is, we’ve both been accused of being crazy for most of our adult lives, so either you’re crazy for calling us crazy, or we’re actually crazy, which we’re not, but here’s the thing:
By now, and according to (most) traditional expectations, Sara and I should have multiple kids, a reasonable home that we’ll pay off in 21 years, mountains of student debt, a 2012 Dodge Chrysler Pacifica that needs to be vacuumed, and a daily conversation about how our last vacation without the kids was in 2009.
For me, each and every morning should start with a pair of business casual slacks I bought from Banana Republic 8 years ago to match my other button up, the one I didn’t wear yesterday.
Annually, I should be aspiring to land that 1.5% raise so I can finally afford to replace my gutters and convert the attic nobody ever uses into a bedroom that nobody will ever use.
Of course, every month or two, I should always look forward to a guy’s night where I can wear a hoodie, drink two Bud Lights and argue about which millionaire athlete I’ve never met is better at that sport I haven’t played in more than a decade.
Sure, I’m being satirical, but how far off am I really?
Not very, and that’s what’s actually crazy.
I was 26-years old when I fully realized that the predictable path laid out before me was not the one I was created for.
In 2007, I left my comfortably boring corporate job in Kansas City, sold nearly everything I owned, packed up 4 suitcases, a basketball, and a case full of Brian McKnight CD’s into my 2004 Honda Civic and drove to Los Angeles in search of adventure.
The real adventure would find me 3 years later, and her name was Sara, a small-town Pennsylvania girl who, like me, independently bolted the comforts of family gatherings and lifelong friends for the daring pastures of the unknown.
We got married on a Carlsbad beach in 2013, and every day since, we’ve fought off convention, chased adventure and carved out a path that’s been anything but boring.
What we’ve figured out is that the very best way to live your life is to live your life. That sounds really obvious and ridiculous until you look around and see that most people never do. Instead, they bury it in the ground to make sure it stays safe and protected from whatever unknown thing may be out there.
It sort of looks like this.
Here’s what I can tell you about the next several months of our journey:
Yep, that’s it.
And if you know us at all, you already know we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cheers to the end, because it’s really just the beginning.