The last few weeks have been a blur of airports, Ubers and rental cars, and reconnecting with people across the continent.
It started with a cold and wet HackDiabetes25 in Vancouver—a weekend that reminded me how powerful it is when passionate people from around the world gather around a shared mission. From there, I flew to Texas for a work onsite in the November Texas heat – mid 80s most days. We’re a remote team, so twice a year we get together in person to remember we’re actual humans, colleagues and not just Slack avatars. Then, just as I was catching my breath, it was time to head east for Thanksgiving. It was still going to be warm in the mid 70s most of the week.
I chose to come back for Thanksgiving this year because I have surgery scheduled soon, and I’m not sure what my mobility will look like come Christmas. There’s a season of forced rest ahead, and I’m realizing I’m not as young as I used to be. Time to make the big trip while I’m closer from work travel and I can.
The connection from Houston to Hilton Head was tighter than I would’ve liked. My plane out of Houston was late leaving, which left me with just 45 minutes to connect across one of America’s biggest airports. We landed in the middle of a massive lightning storm—jaw-droppingly beautiful with thunderheads towering around us and lightning bolts streaking across the sky. The bumps, though? Non-trivial. I think I left a few nail marks in the hard plastic armrests.
Houston’s airport is massive, and I can’t run right now due to some torn muscles. It was an awkward fast walk down one terminal, up to the train, and down another terminal—only to find my connecting flight was delayed too. Stress for apparently nothing, but better to hustle than to be stuck for the night in Texas.
My sister lives on the coast, so this is where we gathered—my parents, my sister’s family, and me. I spent Thanksgiving with the people who’ve known me longest. My niece made an observation that’s stuck with me. She noted how only three of us, the parents and grandparents, have known all of us our whole lives, even though we’ve only known them just a fraction of theirs. My parents have seen all of our lives, but we’ve only seen a fraction of theirs. Age does that. It’s an interesting perspective I hadn’t considered before in the context of the entire family.
At some point during the week, we started going through old family photos. Boxes and boxes of them, spanning more than a century of memories across all of us. We were trying to sort them into some kind of coherent story, but mostly we just kept stopping to laugh. After decades of “keep / toss” throughout my photography career, I did my best to make hard cuts, but it was hard. After the basics:
- is there a person in it?
- is the photo in focus?
- is the exposure right?
- will it translate well on a scanner?
Then sorting got dramatically harder. I didn’t want to put anything in the “toss” pile, but we just can’t keep or archive 300 collective years of photos. Styles have changed. Our haircuts got better (and worse). Things we used to value—clothes, cars, hobbies—had moved on. We saw our lives flow before our eyes as as we dug through them.
My niece and nephew are in college now. They aren’t kids anymore. I’m closing in on a half-century on the planet myself. Most of us have some grey now. I think the passage of time has made us all a bit more aware of one another. Or, maybe it’s just that I’m seeing them differently as I age and gain experience and perspective myself. Time is sweeter now that we see it moving more quickly by. I’ve realized that things aren’t forever, and I want to try to make the most of moments. Things that felt like major bumps 20, 10, even 5 years ago? They’re in the rearview mirror now.
My eyes are always looking for motorcycles, even when I’m not riding. The terrain here is different. It’s the coastal plain, with long straight roads that don’t have much variety over long distances. It reminds me of the geography lesson in middle school about the fall line, where the hills in the northern part of the state turn into the plain. The motorcycle culture shifts dramatically too. Atlanta and the Appalachians make for athletic riding in the windy Appalachians, but here? Cruisers fit the landscape better. Riding here isn’t as agressive as it is in the mountains where you’re pushing through the twisties.
A guy pulled up on a Honda Shadow who caught my eye while I was getting last minute groceries for the Thanksgiving feast. He was maybe 5-10 years older than me, all geared up against the cooler weather that snuck in early.. I’ve always had a fondness for the Shadow—it’s on my bucket list of bikes—but it wasn’t the right moment to say hello without being forcefully awkward. Still, it was nice seeing moto community in unexpected places.
My sister and her husband are fanstatic cooks, each in their own right. We had three different turkeys: baked, smoked, and deep fried. Mom added stuffing. We had vegtables: mashed potatoes, green beans, brussel sprouts, glorious macaroni and cheese (yes mac and cheese is a vegtable) and cranberry sauce. It’s the south and since Mayfield Creamery is just up the proverbial road, MooseTracks may have snuck it’s way onto the dessert tray. Of course, the requested vanillla bean ice cream was Tillamook, a west coast staple.
Departure day called early with a 5:30am wake up for an 8:00 am flight. I walked into the small terminal at Hilton Head Island Airport and immediately felt the difference. I’ve spent most of my life living near major airport hubs, where air travel means navigating traffic across bridges to get there, hoping the TSA line isn’t insane, and sprinting between terminals when connections get tight. Hilton Head? I dropped the rental car, walked in, and TSA was all of four people deep. It was so simple. The JCB display always makes me smile – I mean who has heavy equipment in their airport. I want to find a way into the JCB factory for a tour. Looks like it’s industry only, but maybe someone knows someone, lol.
I’ve been thinking about what my niece said—about how we’ve all only seen fractions of each other’s lives, even the people closest to us. Those boxes of photos drove that home. There are entire chapters of my parents’ lives I’ll never know, just as there are parts of mine they’ll never fully understand. That’s just how time, distance, and individuality work.
But here’s what I do know: the moments we choose to show up for matter. Choosing to make the trip, choosing to be present, choosing to sit on the floor and laugh at bad haircuts and questionable fashion choices while sorting through a century of family history. Choosing to be there with the people who’ve known you longest.
The surgery is coming. There’s uncertainty ahead about what recovery looks like, how long it takes, what I’ll be able to do and when. But right now, I’m grateful I could make this trip happen. I’m greatful that I have a career that makes flexible air travel a part of the job. I’m grateful for the people who’ve known me my whole life, and for the privilege of knowing them through a window of theirs.
Time keeps moving. The trick is noticing it, appreciating it, and showing up for the people who matter while you still can.
#thankYou
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