Some places take root deep within you long before you visit them . . .

like you’re meant to go there . . . or like maybe like you’ve been there in some previous life.

From the moment you lay eyes on them—through a photo or video—they feel exotic or peaceful or serene or exhilarating or terrifying or even, like home.

Whatever emotion these places evoke in you, one thing is for sure: it’s like a part of you knows that place, despite never having been there.

And the part of you that is connected with that place won’t let you the rest until you go to that place . . .

until you connect to that place and connect to yourself in that place.

I’ve known a few places like this in my life. Ireland is the first one that comes to mind.

When I went to Ireland in 2008, I didn’t feel like a tourist.

I felt like a prodigal daughter returning home . . . connecting to a place I’d known before I even arrived there.

Ireland had captured my heart, my soul, and my mind for as long as I can remember. So setting foot on that sacred soil felt like I’d returned to someplace I’d known deep within me despite never having been there.

Like I connected to a place within me just by connecting to Ireland.

There are still a few of those places for me . . . pulling at my soul . . . waiting for me to connect to myself by connecting to that place.

One of them I hadn’t known about until a few months ago.

But, as soon as I saw it in a photo . . . a part of me knew that place.

Ta Ch’ila Provincial Park in British Columbia, Canada.

Formerly known as Boya Lake, Ta Ch’ila (meaning “holes in a blanket”) was one of three provincial parks renamed by the British Columbia government a few years ago in an effort to “reconcile” with the Kaska Dena First Nation.

When I first saw photos of Ta Ch’ila, it broke open something inside me. Something familiar . . . .

There was a deep respect . . . a reverence . . . for this place I’d never even known about.

A familiar connection . . .

So when I finally rolled into the Provincial Park on August 12 after a long day’s drive, I could barely contain my excitement to get down to the water.

I pumped up the SUP board, put the life jackets on Winnie and me, and headed down the path right behind my campsite to the shore.

I’d seen it in the photos, but couldn’t believe how other-wordly it was.

The glassy, turquoise waters, dotted with tree-filled islands jutting up out of the surface seemed like something you’d find in the tropics . . . just with pine trees instead of palm trees.

I paddled out slowly, allowing Winnie to get comfortable on the front of the board.

We took our time . . . paddling, drifting, floating . . . watching the small fish beneath the surface . . .

mesmerized by the white sand at the bottom with the occasional stick or log resting below.

Even Winnie seemed at peace as we drifted along . . . .

Just being on this tranquil water allowed me to reconnect to the calm within me that had been dormant over hours and days of traveling on the road.

It allowed me to connect to a peaceful, serene place deep within me . . .

to give myself permission to connect to just being for awhile . . . not going anywhere . . . not doing anything . . . just being.

After about an hour, we paddled in and started setting up camp for the nite.

One of the things I love about being at campsites is getting to check out other campers’ set-ups and rigs. As I walked down to refill my water jug, I noticed a guy who had an interesting SUV-camping set-up with a huge storage box on his rear hitch that he seemed to be using as the surface for his camping stove. He caught me gawking, I stopped to say “hi,” and, long-story short, I made a new friend. Let’s call him “E.”

“E” was from Canada and on a long road trip up north to the Arctic Circle via a new road that leads to Tuktoyatuck. We ended up having a beer, watching the sunset over the gorgeous lake, and mulling over our routes on the map. Turns out we were both going to Whitehorse, Yukon the next day, so we made plans for dinner.

Now, that may sound strange to some of you, or like I should be more careful as a single lady out on the road on my own. And trust me—there are some weirdos out there. Those people, I steer clear of.

For the most part, however, there’s something about being on the road, at campsites, with other weary travelers, that connects you to each other.

Similar to the connection you have deep inside you to previously strange places, there’s often a connection between road-trippers who are otherwise strangers . . .

an unspoken bond that you’re in this together, even though you’re from different places and heading to different destinations.

A bond about the places you’ve each been . . . the roads you’ve each been down . . . the roads you’re each going to traverse.

The mishaps, the flat tires, the broken equipment, the animal encounters . . .

the sights, the joys, the journey.

People who have been on the road for long stretches seem to know each other without even really knowing each other.

Strangers connect on the road in ways that the world off-the-road wouldn’t normally allow.

So “E” and I had an easy familiar connection, despite being strangers from two different countries.

We were two solo travelers out there . . . in the wilds of Canada . . . on separate, but similar journeys . . . with our own backstories about why we’re out here.

So, when we both end up going to the same spot the next nite, you can be damn sure we were going to have dinner.

“E” was generous in sharing information he had about restaurants in Whitehorse, his maps, and his knowledge about the road. But, he also shared one more interesting thing: someone had told him that Ta Ch’ila was like the Bora Bora of the North.

I had to agree . . . .

“E” also shared a quote with me from an ethnobotanist named Terence McKenna . . . something about throwing yourself into the abyss and finding that it’s a featherbed. I looked up the full quote:

“Nature loves courage. You make the commitment and nature will respond to that commitment by removing impossible obstacles. Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up. This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering [it’s] a feather bed.”  

     -  Terence McKenna

Little did I know at the time that this quote would become an metaphor that seemed just out of my reach.

The next morning, I took the SUP board out one last time for a paddle by myself, while Winnie slept in the camper.

This time, I paddled out farther, to some of the random little islands that dotted the massive lake . . . exploring . . . connecting to the moment.

I wish I’d had the time to paddle the entire lake, but it would have taken hours . . . and sadly, we needed to get on the road.

But, not before I took the opportunity to record a short little meditation for y’all from my SUP board on the calm, glassy waters of Ta Ch’ila: Finding Micro Moments of Mindfulness

After leaving Ta Ch’ila, Winnie and I made good time to Whitehorse, officially entering Canada’s Yukon territory.

Honestly, entering the Yukon felt pretty badass.

I mean “the Yukon” just implies badassery . . . synonymous with the most wild and bold images that are conjured up when you think of Canada.

The Yukon . . . larger than life.

Whitehorse had a cool vibe even though it happened to be a holiday weekend (their Discovery Day), so a lot of stores and restaurants were closed that nite and for the weekend.

After getting Winnie settled at the hotel, I met “E” at the Sheep Camp bar and restaurant on Main street. It felt invigorating to be social, have wonderful conversation, swap stories, enjoy awesome food and beer, and watch the sun set out the restaurant window at 10:00 p.m.!

Before bed that nite, I’d already decided to spend an extra day in Whitehorse to recoup and just chill instead of hitting the road to head to a campsite a few hours away.

So the next day, Winnie, “E”, and I walked along the river trail, where I introduced “E” to the fun of finding 4-leaf clovers. I found my 12th (or maybe 13th) clover, and told “E” to take it with him. “E” also graciously helped me fix the curtain rod in the camper which had broken. So once again, I was supported by the kindness of others.

The best part of Whitehorse though? Going to Canadian Tire! If you’re ever in Canada, trust me when I say that you can find anything you need at Canadian Tire . . . from a new trunk organizer for the car, to patio furniture, to food, to tools, to camping supplies . . . it’s a huge superstore oasis for wandering travelers.

The second best part of Whitehorse: Yukon Brewing—the oldest brewery in the Yukon where their slogan is “Beer worth freezing for.” Although it’s a small brewery, the beer was fantastic . . . probably worth freezing for (although you can get it in other Canadian Territories closer to the border).

The next day was a long 7.5-hour drive across the border, back into the U.S., to Tok, Alaska.

And that’s where I’ll pick up next time . . .

For now, here’s your Trail Mix:

Lessons learned: Go find those places that take root in your soul . . . the ones to which you feel a deep connection. They’ve taken root within you for a reason. You don’t have to necessarily travel to those places. It can be enough to surround yourself with the images of them . . . in your home and in your mind. In those places or surrounded by the images of those places, you may connect to a part of yourself that you’d buried, forgotten, or never known was there.

And whether you’re traveling or staying more local, open up to the connective power of making new friends. New people along your journey can open up new connections in you. Like the Micro Moments of Mindfulness meditation teaches, you can learn to connect . . . connect to yourself, to others, to the world around you.

What I’m listening to: No music or podcasts recommendations for this one. Instead, I invite you to listen to yourself . . . to connect to your intuition. Intuition is how I find 4- and 5-leaf clovers . . . I get a little whisper to “look down” and, usually, there they are. Intuition is how I connect to new friends . . . listen to that desire for connection within you and open yourself up to the possibility of connection . . . to the possibility of finding a new friend in someone who was previously a stranger. Listening to and connecting to your intuition is a skill . . . it can be developed. If you think that you don’t have intuition or that your “intuition is off,” then trust me—you’re not actually connecting to yourself. So get quiet . . . connect to your body with the meditation above . . . and keep practicing. It’s natural to feel like you can’t hear your intuition . . . it just means you can’t hear it yet. And, if you’re like me, you’ve had years of being disconnected from yourself and from your intuition. So give it some time . . . .