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Do you know what’s a shame? Forgetting the details. Like when you’re riding through a valley in the middle of nowhere between two Colorado mountains. (Listen, I know you people think I live on the road, but I promise I don’t travel THAT much. Promise.)

It’s a real shame riding through the Rockies, knowing you’ll forget the moment that you watched the scenes rush past the window, only relying on my memory to hold them there forever. I soaked it all in––every pine tree, 14,000 ft mountain peak, sidewalk, view from the windowsill, and even hotel coffee.

There’s a lot of beauty in those basic things. It reminds me of a hike I took with my friend. It was rather simple, and we talked a lot about nature and Jesus.

Picture it: Last November. The fall leaves were peaking with brilliant colors as the three of us girls trekked a round-trip 6-mile trail. Finally, with aching knees and sore feet, we found the river. We each climbed to the top of a boulder, and my friend provided apple cookies during our peaceful break.

For hours, we just sat over the water, overlooking the cold water that flowed down the mountain. There was a lot of beauty in that moment.

We started talking about our favorite aspects of nature, and I said, “Sunrise.”

I said I loved the beauty in daybreak, how it refreshes a whole day and shines its restoring light on a sleepy earth. I’ve seen many sunrises at the beach, as it peaks over the ocean. I’ve seen the sunrise on cold mornings as I drove to my early college classes. And there was beauty in that moment––that moment I parked my car in the empty lot and sat there at 7 a.m., watching the sunrise.

It’s the beauty in the little things, the simple things. I noticed that during my trip to Colorado, and I made sure to tell myself that most of these moments I’m experiencing will be forgotten.

Fast forward to this week: I’m writing this column from the Colorado Springs Airport. Outside this window is a 14,000 ft mountain called Pikes Peak. A year and a half ago when I started as a columnist at the Bulletin, I never imagined I’d be writing one of these as I faced out a window above a Colorado runway.

(Again, I don’t travel THAT much. . . Promise.)

So I raise my glass to yet another memorable travel experience that I’m lucky to get to share with my dearest readers.

Here’s to another safe flight home, another column, and all the simple things that are beautiful.