This past week we made our way down the 101 in a big old pink rickety camper van. A 1950’s Studabaker rigged with a camper is quite a rare and slightly terrifying sight to see. As the wind blew, the camper swayed from side to side and the smell of burning fuel lingered as we sat 50 mph in the slow lane crossing our fingers we wouldn’t break down. We decided to go to the port at Avila Beach and camp on the cliff overlooking the beautiful ocean. The smell of the salt and the sand in our toes was soul food at its finest. There is something so detoxifying about the ocean, we walked the beach and found starfish, watched the dogs play, and thanked our lucky stars Wyatt didn’t think the sand was food. As the wood fire burned we sat around with family and friends, talking about life over chicken kabobs and Coors Light. Before we knew it our friends had gone, it was 10:30pm and Wyatt was sound asleep in my lap. We sat there reflecting on the trip and he laughed and agreed as I said, “this is why you work so hard, so we can truly live nights like these.”
We work to live, we don’t live to work.