Bellagio, Italy

It's damp, gray, and snowy here in the Northeast this month and I'm happily procrastinating on the wedding to-do list tonight. My future MIL can attest to the fact that I sat on her couch for four hours on Sunday working on lists and itineraries and liturgies, so there is no guilty conscience over here.

Instead, there are double chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies cooling in the kitchen, a candle flickering on the coffee table, a freshly shoveled driveway, and sunny photos to savor.

Lost on Dial Mountain

I keep saying that I’m happy to get out of my comfort zone. Michael keeps taking me at my word, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise when on an early October Saturday, with the sunlight filtering through the changing maple and poplar leaves, I was convinced that I was doomed to wander through the Adirondack parkway forever walking in circles.

Early Morning on the Lake

Before falling asleep on Sunday night, Katie and I discussed whether we wanted to get up in time to watch the sunrise. We knew that if we left that decisions till morning it would be far too easy to stay slumbering. The decision was that no matter how we might protest the early morning wake-up, we were going to grab our blankets and go to the dock.

Into the Woods

The first few seconds after turning onto the hidden gravel road make you wonder if you have the right place. The ruts which have been cut into the bluff twist and and turn for a mile, taking you deeper into the Adirondacks. Just when you've begun to wonder how you'll get yourself out of the tangle of overgrowth, the parking space suddenly opens in front of you and you've officially arrived at Pyramid Lake.

This hidden gem is a diocesan-run lakeside retreat center, compiled of cabins, lodge, and dining hall nested into the low-range mountains surrounding a lake which has never seen a motorized watercraft. When my childhood friend of 12+ years came for a visit, I knew it was the perfect spot for quality time and catch-up. The three of us piled into the truck and made the hour and a half trip North, bringing enough food for us and the cabin chipmunks. We played cards by the light of campfires, woke up to the sound of loons on the water, watched the early morning mist rise from the lake, hiked the bluffs, swam with the sunnies and the watersnake, read in the sunlight, kayaked and chatted over coffee. It was the perfect way to add a new chapter to this incredible friendship.

Train to NYC

One of the hardest parts about beginning life in a new place was the heart-wrenching question of "What happens to all the relationships that I've invested so deeply in?" It was terrifying to think that this beautiful new life was going to cost the friendships that walked with me through awkward teen years, college decisions, relationships and heartbreak, and striking out into the world to pursue dreams and goals. How could I let go of the people who had seen me through so much? Those fears caused more than a few late night tossing and turnings.

It was foolish, really. If those friendships had taught me anything, it should have been to trust in the depth of love that these women are capable of giving. While it's true that our relationships look a little different now (our chats with glass of red wine in hand now include a phone), the heart to hearts, encouragement, love, and laughter, haven't changed. I've been learning that if a someone wants to genuinely invest in your relationship, distance and time don't stand a chance of deterring them.

This was never more evident than when Lizzie arrived at the Greyhound bus station in Albany. This woman has taught me so much about pursuing the desires of your heart and never letting fear detract you from boldly pursuing your life. It was pure joy to find ourselves once again curled up on the couch, our conversations peppered with "Do you remember walking through the worst parts of Barcelona at 2:00 a.m. to catch our bus?" or "Remember dancing in Paris at midnight in an Irish pub, with a Frenchman and a German?" It didn't matter that it had been eight months since we had seen each other; the place that we'd kept for each other in our lives allowed us to step right back into our friendship with even more depth and heart, completely laying all those old fears to rest.

(Now, true to the spirit of our friendship, we woke up at 4:00 a.m. to catch a train down to NYC to rush tickets to Les Mis, though we both had a different cough bug and packed enough suppressants to stock a drug-store. You should have seen the amount of Nyquil and chicken soup we bought on the following day!)

Vermont and Covered Bridges

It's becoming a thing. Nine times out of ten, at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, there is a black truck parked outside my apartment with a grinning fiancé and a hot thermos of coffee waiting inside. And ninety percent of the time, I have no idea what is coming after I jump into the cab: and I have to admit, that's always the hardest part. I've always had a difficult time giving up control of what's coming next and trusting in what I can't foresee or plan. Our Saturday adventures are becoming lessons in learning to trust that Michael will take care of us, even if I can't see past 'the bend in the road' (literally and figuratively!).

A Saturday in mid March was no exception ... I knew we had plans for a date but didn't know what it involved other than to wear shoes comfortable to walk in. He was waiting for me by 9:00 so of course I walked to the truck by quarter after. After about a half hour I asked him what the 'VT Gifts' stood for on all the billboards that we were passing. He gave me a funny look and waited until the lightbulb turned on in my head when I realized we were crossing into Vermont. I blame my Midwest roots for not recognizing East Coast state abbreviations! We spent the day exploring the tiny town of Manchester, and as the sun set later that afternoon, he made the trip complete by finding us just one of Vermont's many covered bridges. All said and done, I didn't have to worry at all about about what was coming next, but could simply relish in the thoughtfulness and care that was right in front of me.

Brooklyn Point of View

The day we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge was also the day we walked for twelve miles, ended up in Eataly twice in one day (first pizza and then gelato), watched the sun set behind the Statue of Liberty from the boardwalk, savored the lights slowing blinking to life in the city, discovered our subway stop closed so we walked until we found another, hungrily sat down in Greenwich Village for burgers and beer at the end of the day, stopped to people watch at the Washington Square Arch, eavesdropped on the group walking in front of us as we attempted to decipher their accent, and slowly walked all the way back by way of 5th Avenue.