by Karon -

A Last Look at Albuquerque: Tramway, Petroglyphs & Route 66

Before leaving New Mexico, I had a few more things I wanted to see.

I’d been in Albuquerque long enough to know it probably wasn’t going to become one of my favorite places. The summer heat certainly didn’t help. But the longer I stayed and the more I explored, the more I found to appreciate—unexpected murals, quirky Route 66 stops, ancient rock art, and those enormous Sandia Mountains always looming in the background. Some of my favorite discoveries were actually outside the city, but they all added to my experience in New Mexico.

So, before packing up and moving on, I decided to have one last look around.

I decided to see Albuquerque from above.

I’d been looking at the Sandia Mountains for weeks, so riding the Sandia Peak Tramway seemed like a fitting way to finally get a closer look.

The tram travels more than two miles up the mountain, climbing to more than 10,000 feet. As it rose above the city, Albuquerque seemed to get smaller and smaller below me. The Rio Grande stretched across the valley, and the desert landscape spread out in every direction.

I’ve seen plenty of beautiful views during this nomad year, but there was something special about seeing Albuquerque from this perspective. From the ground, the city can feel sprawling and a little chaotic. From the mountain, it looked peaceful.

And, thankfully, considerably cooler.

The tram ride made me think about how sometimes you just need to change your perspective.

Literally.

If the tram gave me a new perspective on Albuquerque, my visit to Petroglyph National Monument took me in a completely different direction—back hundreds of years.

The monument protects thousands of images carved into the dark volcanic rocks along Albuquerque’s West Mesa. Some were created by Indigenous people, while others were carved by Spanish settlers centuries ago.

I followed the trail, looking closely at the rocks for images that can be surprisingly easy to miss.

A bird.

A figure.

A symbol.

A handprint.

It was fascinating to think about someone standing in this very place hundreds of years ago, carefully carving an image into the rock.

There was no grand building. No elaborate exhibit. Just rocks, desert, sky—and these little pieces of history still sitting right where they were left.

I liked that.

Of course, I couldn’t leave Albuquerque without a little more time on Route 66.

One thing I did enjoy about Albuquerque was how often something unexpected caught my eye. You didn’t always have to be looking for an attraction. Sometimes you just turned a corner and found something worth stopping for.

A mural.

An old neon sign.

A vintage building.

A sculpture that made me wonder what the artist was thinking.

And then there’s Route 66 itself, running through the heart of the city along Central Avenue.

Albuquerque has embraced its stretch of the Mother Road with murals, public art, historic signs, and plenty of colorful reminders of its past. In fact, the city’s new Route 66 Remixed project has turned an 18-mile stretch of the road into an art-filled journey featuring murals, sculptures, and other creative installations.

That felt very Albuquerque to me.

History, art, kitsch, culture, and a little bit of weirdness all mixed together.

I stopped for pictures whenever something caught my eye. Some were planned. Others were completely random.

Those might have been my favorite kind.

Looking back at my time in Albuquerque, I realize I probably won’t remember the city as a collection of major attractions.

I’ll remember the little things.

The colorful murals I stumbled across while driving around.

The Route 66 signs.

The quirky roadside touches.

The mountains appearing at the end of a street.

The enormous sky.

The petroglyphs hiding in the volcanic rocks.

And that first view from the tram when the entire city opened up below me.

Maybe that’s what travel does sometimes.

We arrive somewhere expecting to decide whether we like it or not. We make our lists and visit the places we’re supposed to visit. And then, somewhere along the way, the place becomes less about the things we checked off and more about the little moments we remember.

Albuquerque and I never became great friends.

But I found things here that I loved.

Art.

History.

Beautiful landscapes.

A few unexpected adventures.

And, as has happened so many times during this nomad year, I found a little more of myself along the way.

So this is my last New Mexico post—for now, anyway.

I’m leaving with a full camera roll, a few more stories, and the feeling that maybe Albuquerque didn’t need to steal my heart after all.

Maybe it was enough to simply give me something to remember.

by Karon -

My August Project Wasn’t a Project at All

My August project wasn’t a project at all.

August turned out to be a month of movement. I stayed in three different states and drove through five others, covering around 2,040 miles. I knew it would be a month of transitions, packing and unpacking, and lots of time behind the wheel, so I decided to plan most of my free days around family.

I spent time with my mom creating art for the local county fair. I helped her create two pieces: one was a painting of flowers in a cowboy boot, which seemed appropriate for a fair. The other was a paper collage of a bird, since my mom loves the birds that come to her feeders outside her window. We had fun working on the projects together, and I was so proud when she came home with two ribbons, including a Best of Show! We also enjoyed a couple of special meals together.

I took each of my three Texas grandsons on an individual date. They each got to choose an activity and a restaurant for lunch. I ended up with pizza for lunch on two of the three days, but it was so worth it. I loved having that one-on-one time with each of them and getting to see what they wanted to do.

Over those three days, I visited two different museums, one playground, and the duck pond three times. One chose the Veterans Museum because he loves everything military, even though we’d been there before. The littlest one chose the playground in my old neighborhood because it was always his favorite thing to do when he would visit. And the oldest opted for the Sam Houston Museum since neither of us had been before.

We almost always visit the duck pond on outings. It’s the same duck pond where I took my kids when they were little, so it’s fun to take my grandkids there now. It has a huge cypress tree that I always take pictures of the boys standing beside. It’s become a bit of a tradition, even though they don’t always want to cooperate. We also enjoyed some lovely family meals and plenty of time together at home.

All those miles on the road were worth it when I reached my final destination and got to spend more time with my daughter and her family. Because of the distance, I don’t get to spend as much time with these two grandsons, so I thoroughly enjoyed having several days to simply be Grandma—or “Christmas Tree,” as they call me. It’s my grandma name, given to me on a whim by the older one, and somehow it stuck. I love it! We ended the month with a birthday celebration for my youngest grandson.

Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t plan a project for August. Instead, I let the month unfold into something I hadn’t planned for: a month filled with precious time with my family.

by Karon -

My First Week in Colorado

The water was almost a sapphire blue with snow-capped mountains rising in the distance, and I remember thinking—this is not a bad way to start the day. I was out for a morning walk at the neighborhood lake on my first full day in Colorado when I spotted a large, white bird floating on the water. As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes—it was an American white pelican. They were the very same birds I had seen during my stay in Rockport, Texas. They wintered there, but I thought they were coastal water birds and had no idea that a few months later I would be seeing them in such a landlocked region.

As I continued my walk around the lake, there were lots of other water birds. Canadian Geese swam by, some with their goslings trailing behind, and Mallards drifted on the water while huge carp spawned near the shoreline. The crisp 52-degree air felt perfect for a morning walk. The Texas heat I left behind a few days earlier was just a memory now. As I came around a bend in the path, a bench appeared. I sat down feeling very blessed to be back in Colorado and simply savored the moment.

After a while, I returned to my temporary home and cooked myself a healthy breakfast which included a toasted slice of lavender sourdough bread that my host had prepared for me. I thoroughly enjoyed every bite.

Then I plopped myself into a lounge chair on the back patio and watched a squirrel sift through the fallen birdseed looking for a morsel. The trickling fountain, chirping birds, and melodious wind chimes created the perfect spot to read for a while before enjoying a little nap in the fresh air. I felt like I didn’t have a care in the world and nothing that I needed to do. This gloriously relaxing morning was just the thing I needed after the long drive.

As the week went on, in addition to walking and relaxing on the patio, I ventured out for some sightseeing. One day I made the thirty-minute drive to Boulder and shopped at the Pearl Street Mall. Such a “Colorado” experience. Pearl Street is a pedestrian mall with lovely shops, galleries, and cafes offering outdoor seating. It was a perfect day with crisp, clean air, sunshine, and mountains in the distance. There were sculptures and nature features designed into the walkway along with flowers and trees. I especially loved the sculpture of the mama bear with her cubs along with the boulders placed here and there.

Even though I am typically drawn more quickly to paintings, a small sea-blue turtle caught my eye as I walked into an art gallery. It looked like origami. As I walked further into the gallery, there was a whole body of work by artist Kevin Box that embodied the same style. This section was all white and each bronze origami sculpture had an unfolded version. These artworks spoke to me in a soft, familiar way that immediately took me back to my time in Japan with the delicate, intricate paper artworks. Only this artwork had a strong, solid feel to it. I loved the idea of giving permanence to a delicate form of art.

On another day I explored Olde Town Arvada. The downtown area is sort of a smaller, quainter version of Pearl Street, with a real hometown feel. I stopped for chai tea and felt genuinely welcomed by some locals. Just a short walk from the coffee shop is the Arvada Flour Mill, built in 1923 by Eugene Emory Benjamin along the railroad tracks at the southern edge of town. The mill operated through the 1950s, though much of its machinery was already older, having been brought in from another mill. Just down the tracks stands the old water tower, a simple but iconic reminder of Arvada’s early days, and together they give a glimpse into the town’s history as a small but active agricultural and railroad community.

In less than a week, I had already found my rhythm here with short trips exploring, quiet walks, and time for relaxing. My next local adventure was a visit to the Sculpture Field which is a rotating exhibit of outdoor sculptures at the Arvada Center for the Arts. The center itself is large and beautiful with outdoor seating and a children’s interactive sculpture garden featuring a large, colorful dragon. There was also a pond with a path and permanent sculpture installations. As I walked through the field, I found myself contemplating the inspirations behind the artworks as I scanned the QR codes and read about each piece. I am always fascinated by what motivates artists to create that particular art in that particular medium. I love the inspiration I feel when I have the opportunity to see an eclectic collection of artworks.

In one short week in Colorado, I have settled in, found my rhythm, viewed some amazing art, and made a few meaningful connections. It seems that I am learning how to really relax into slow travel and this nomadic life. I am looking forward to my next four weeks in Colorado!

.

by Karon -

The Beauty of an Ordinary Week

This week gave me nothing extraordinary to write about, yet it has been full and rich in all the right ways.

I am currently back at my son’s place—my nomadic home base.

It has been a slow-paced week of Legos, flower picking, and imaginary play. I’ve been immersed in the ordinary lives of my three grandsons. In just nine short days, I’ve watched a jiu jitsu class and a flag football game, taken a quick trip to Palestine for lunch and a hike through the annual fairy garden trail, and simply been present for everyday moments.

On the drive to Palestine, we told stories about them when they were little, their dad when he was little, and even a few stories from my own childhood. We laughed at silly things and listened to favorite songs. It was one of those simple days that means more than you expect.

This week, I’ve also been trying to walk at least ten minutes after most meals, along with a longer walk on many days. I’ve been sorting through a few things too, hoping to travel lighter on my next trip.

And I’m loving the freedom of not being weighed down by things.

This new life didn’t just change where I lived—it changed how I live.

I now lean into things that I used to think were flaws. Like being an introvert. I savor that time alone to recharge. I used to push against that and now I embrace it.

A few days ago I sat in the sunshine by the lake and just felt the warmth on my skin and listened to the gentle sounds of nature. I no longer feel the need to rush.

With the fast-paced life of teaching as just a memory now, I can fully breathe. I am deeply content with traveling and living alone. Having the space to breathe allows me to savor the moments with family and friends.

I’ve roughly planned the next several months: Colorado, New Mexico, North Carolina, and stops in between. I’m excited for what’s ahead. I am envisioning mountain hikes, lakes, and room to embrace slow travel. There will be time alone and some visits with family and friends.

But for right now, I’m grounded in the moment, with two more weeks here with my grandsons. I’m treasuring these days of sitting outside to watch the sunrise, hearing the rain on the roof, and listening to them play nearby.

by Karon -

Wintering by the Sea: How I Got Here

I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to set out — but I had been imagining it for a long time.

Before I ever packed a bag or stepped into this season of slow, nomadic travel, there was a quieter beginning. Long before the movement, there was downsizing — sorting through years of accumulated things and thoughtfully deciding what to keep, what to release, and what no longer fit the life I was stepping into. The process took time, intention, and more emotional energy than I anticipated. In many ways, it was the first act of becoming a nomad.

Looking back, I can see how letting go of physical things created space — not just in my surroundings, but internally as well. What followed wasn’t a dramatic departure, but more of a gentle unfolding. A month of preparing and releasing gradually gave way to three months of movement, exploration, and learning how to live more lightly.

I’ve walked beaches along the Atlantic and the Gulf, dipped my toes into two of the Great Lakes, climbed lighthouses, and wandered quiet trails that encouraged me to slow down rather than rush ahead. I tasted local foods, explored without an agenda, and learned to move through places without hurrying toward the next one.

Along the way, I’ve witnessed the quiet magic of nature: manatees gliding through the water, foxes darting across my path, chipmunks and wild turkeys going about their days, and seabirds tracing graceful arcs across the sky. I’ve stood beneath brilliant fall colors, experienced a light dusting of snow, and — somewhat improbably — found myself swimming in late November.

Some of the most meaningful parts of this journey have been the people. I’ve spent time with two of my sisters, visited Amy and her family, Ryan and his family, and shared unhurried moments with my mother. I reconnected with a dear friend I had met years ago in Italy, a reminder of how deeply some connections endure across time and distance. I also spent time in person with a close friend I had once taught with in Japan, catching up in a way that felt grounding and familiar. Along the way, I was met with kindness from strangers — small gestures that lingered longer than expected.

What continues to surprise me most is how this life — outwardly full of movement — has brought a sense of inner steadiness. I’ve seen mountains, beaches, lakes, and everything in between — and more than that, I’ve learned how little I actually need to feel content. Each place, each mile has been less about change and more about alignment.

Now, as this post is published, I’ve settled into a two-month stay in a small coastal town — a sort of wintering without fully stopping. It feels like a natural pause in the movement, a chance to live a little slower while staying open to what unfolds.

This chapter isn’t about checking off destinations or collecting experiences for their own sake. It’s about paying attention — to landscapes, to people, and to myself. It’s about discovering that freedom can be both expansive and quiet at once, and that this quieter freedom is creating room to imagine what comes next.

As this journey continues, I’m holding it loosely — allowing space for rest, curiosity, and whatever unfolds in its own time. These past months have reminded me that life doesn’t always require us to know the whole path ahead. Sometimes it simply invites us to begin.

— Kari