It’s time to wind down the 50 in 50 for 50 journey. So join me for one last installment and make sure to catch the Trail Mix and meditation at the end . . . along with a ton of photos to keep you entertained!

Leaving Dawson Creek and the adventure of the AlCan behind us meant we were turning south to slowly make our way back home to Colorado. The last two weeks of the 50 in 50 for 50 journey would take us through several Canadian and American National Parks, mark the return of a new traveling friend, and continue one of the themes of this trip: “can’t see shit.”

Just outside of Dawson Creek, I made a brief pitstop in Grand Prairie, Alberta to see one of the largest sundials in North America - the Millennium Sundial.

Sundials impress me. I’m sure the science behind how they work is pretty simple, but they still blow me away. I was there around 1:08 pm and sure enough, the shadow reflected that approximate time. The sundial was constructed as part of Grand Prairie’s Millennium celebration (which also included burying several time capsules in the plaza where the sundial is located). It’s made of stainless steel and measures over 40 feet tall. (Fun Fact: did you know that the raised part of the sundial that casts the shadow to tell time is called a “gnomon?”)

The Millennium Sundial was the highlight of the mind-numbing drive from Dawson Creek to Jasper National Park. Highway 43 heading out of Dawson Creek was a construction-littered snoozefest, and Highway 40 from Grand Prairie was an annoyingly twisty-turvy two-lane highway for about 240 miles with no services (gas or bathrooms) for over 100 miles.

Finally, after four hours of driving, the remarkable landscape of Jasper National Park started coming into view.

Driving into Jasper impressed upon me—for the first time on this trip—how freaking massive the Canadian Rockies are. Although they’re not generally as tall in elevation as the Colorado Rockies, the elevation rise is significantly more dramatic given the lower elevations where the base of the mountains start.

The Canadian Rockies are like Mount Rainier - rising up out of Mother Earth as if to see “I’m here and you will pay attention to me, you tiny little human!” Dizzying, jagged mountain peaks. Shark-tooth like features. Arêtes. Glaciers. Waterfalls. Plunging valleys. It’s no wonder that the National Parkes in the Canadian Rockies (Banff, Jasper, Kootenay, and Yoho) are on the UNESCO World Heritage List.

I met up again with my new friend, “E,” in Jasper. It’d been a few weeks since we parted ways in Whitehorse, Yukon after initially meeting at Ta Ch’ila Provincial Park. We both were staying at Whistler’s Campground within Jasper National Park. After setting up our campsites, we headed out for an evening hike at Valley of the Five Lakes with Winnie.

Although I’d spent weeks seeing numerous crystal clear blue/green lakes throughout Canada, I still couldn’t help but be awestruck. The Five Lakes hike was a series of lake after lake of these serene, clear waters.

The next day, “E” and I had hoped to do a longer hike up a popular mountain peak; but, the fan in the travel trailer had stopped working, so I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Winnie in there by herself. So, instead, we took a scenic drive to the iconic Maligne Lake, stopping at Medicine Lake along the way.

Do a quick search on the internet or Instagram, and you’ll see a gallery-worthy photos of the gorgeous Maligne Lake with people canoeing, paddle boarding, and kayaking. One of my big dreams for this trip was to take Winnie on the SUP board on Maligne Lake . . . to float on the crystal blue water, surrounded by jagged, dramatic peaks. Unfortunately, time didn’t allow for that and it was incredibly windy. Still . . . it was nice to lay my eyes on these gorgeous lakes . . . and plant a seed to return someday.

After our drive, “E” left to continue his traveling journey, and Winnie and I drove up to watch the sunset over Pyramid Lake and Patricia Lake (which I presume they named after my mom). Sadly, a thick smoke was building off in the distance from a forest fire that had started the day before in the Jasper mountains.

I tried to walk down to the edge of Patricia Lake, but a female elk was blocking my way. I gave her a wide berth and watched her eating from the bushes and grass, bummed that I hadn’t grabbed my real camera from the car. I was stuck with my iPhone; but, as they say, “the best camera you have is the one you have on you.”

I hopped back in the car and drove a short distance to a pullout with a more clear path down to Patricia Lake. I grabbed my camera and set up to take some photos of the smokey sun setting against the backdrop of the lake. Just as I got set up, I heard a rustling and looked over to see the female elk walking briskly toward me along the small beach. There wasn’t enough room for her and me to be safely on the beach, so I grabbed my gear, walked back toward the car, and waited for her to mosey along.

Once she was far enough away, I headed back down to the beach. The combination of the smoke in the sky with the sunset, the moon, and the mountains made for a stunning photograph . . . a fitting tribute for my mom.

The next day, smoke from the fire had blanketed the town of Jasper and much of the park. I could feel it as soon as I woke up, coughing a bit and inhaling that all-too-familiar forest fire smell. I couldn’t even see the mountains that bordered the camp. So, I headed south along the Icefields Parkway to Athabasca Falls.

This Class 5 waterfall on the Athabasca River is one of Canada’s most impressive waterfalls, and it did not disappoint.

Winnie and I then spent a lazy day wandering around downtown Jasper, talking to locals, and learning that they were expecting power outages as the fire moved toward power lines. By early evening, the wind shifted and the smoke blew more to the north. I spontaneously drove to another lake - Lake Edith. I was still hoping to take out the SUP board on one of these iconic Jasper Lakes, but the 12-volt chargers in my car had stopped working and I had no way to inflate my board.

Luckily, the universe intervened once again with another helper. I saw a SUP board rental hut along the Lake Edith beach and stopped to ask if they might have a way for me to use my electric pump. One of the women who worked there said that I could use the 12-volt charger in her Subaru. So after about 20 minutes, Winnie and I were finally ready to paddle out onto the lake.

Lake Edith, like all the other Canadian Lakes, was a calm, welcoming oasis of tranquility.

The smoke from the Jasper fire was even worse the next day, as we left the charm of Jasper and headed south along the Icefields Parkway toward Banff National Park. The drive between Jasper and Banff National Parks is one of the most spectacular drives in the world. I’ll take people’s word for it, because the smoke obscured most of the views of the glacier-laden mountains. Still, every curve in the road opened up towering mountain views that kept unfolding like a kaleidoscope. We made several stops along the way to gawk at the pale, ice blue waters of the Athabasca River . . .

to walk along other crystal clear lakes, like Horseshoe Lake . . .

and marvel at the stunning, electric blue water of Peyto Lake, which is caused by the sunlight scattering off of glacial silt (rock flour) in the water.

After a fun-filled day along the Icefields Parkway, we arrived in Banff where we would spend the next five days.

I met up with “E” again, who was on the final leg of his trip as he headed toward home. We walked Winnie around Two Jack Lake in Banff (because apparently I can’t get enough of Canadian lakes) and had a fantastic dinner at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Banff. After that, we parted ways and “E” headed home, our journeys officially coming to a close.

The rest of my time in Banff was rather unremarkable and continuously smoky, with one exception: my day trip to Yoho National Park.

Let me say . . . Yahoo for Yoho!

Yoho National Park is now one my favorite places. The drive through Banff National Park to Yoho is gorgeous as you wind your way among dizzying mountain peaks.

We stopped to do a short hike to Takakkaw Falls—the second tallest waterfall in Canada at a towering 373 meters. “Takakkaw” means “magnificent” in Cree, and I’d have to agree . . . these falls were magnificent.

I made a quick stop at the Natural Bridge, where the rapids and cascading waters of the Kicking Horse River have gradually eroded a hole in the rock formations. (It’s bigger than it looks in the photo).

But the best part of Yoho was Emerald Lake . . . one of my new happy places.

I rented an adorable red canoe for Winnie and me to paddle out across this breathtaking glacial lake. Winnie seemed more content in the canoe than on the paddleboard, maybe because the edges of the canoe made her feel safer.

We canoed around Emerald Lake for an hour, taking in the stunning mountain backdrop and the clear blue-green water. In that moment, I felt so grateful for the peace and beauty of this lake . . . for the opportunity to be with my best girl, in a little red canoe, on an epic Canadian Lake. This is what I’d been yearning for since I left Ta Ch’ila Lake several weeks ago . . . to be out on one of the glorious lakes that I’d seen in pictures and been dreaming of for the last two years. I’d had so many visions, hopes, and expectations for this trip—most of which hadn’t come to fruition. But this one had . . . and I could not have been more grateful and at peace. (The meditation for this installment was recorded from the canoe at Emerald Lake, so make sure to read to the end).

After we finished canoeing, we walked the 3-mile path around the lake and arrived back at the boathouse just in time for sunset and some gorgeous reflection photos.

I left Yoho feeling reinvigorated . . . back in touch with the natural beauty of Canada that seemed to be alluding me in all the smoke the last few days.

Two of the Canadian Lakes I’d been dreaming of for the last two years were Lake Louise and Moraine Lake. The next day, after waiting for the rain to let up, I made the drive back up through Banff National Park as dusk fell on the mountains. These two lakes are so popular, that the parking lots for them will fill up before sunrise. And, since I couldn’t seem to drag my ass out of bed at 3:00 a.m. to drive up there, I opted for the evening, hoping that most of the tourists would have left for dinner.

I wanted to see Lake Moraine a lot more than I wanted to see Lake Louise. I’d seen so many photos of this bright blue lake sitting in the valley of The Ten Peaks. But, as I pulled up to the turnoff for Moraine Lake, the entrance was blocked because the parking lot was still full. So, I continued on to Lake Louise.

When we arrived at Lake Louise, it was cold and rainy, with the remaining fragments of sunlight obscured by dark clouds. Not the best conditions for getting the kind of epic photos I’d hoped to take. But, we were there . . . it was gorgeous . . . and the photos I got are better than nothing.

It was nearing twilight and I had about an hour and a half drive back to Banff. But, as we drove past the entrance to Moraine Lake again, I noticed it was no longer blocked, meaning that the parking lot had some spaces. I paused for a second, thinking that it was getting too dark to drive another 15-20 minutes down the slow, winding road to Moraine Lake. “But I’m already here,” I thought. “What the hell.”

So I quickly turned onto the road and was immediately panicked.

I have no idea why.

maybe it was because I kept seeing car after car coming down the road leaving Moraine Lake, while I was the only one heading toward Moraine Lake . . .

maybe it was because it was about to be dark and I was driving down some sketchy-ass mountain road that I’d never driven . . .

or maybe it was because I have a longstanding bizarre fear of dark shapes.

Yep, ever since I can remember, I’ve feared dark shapes hovering over me. When my family used to go boating every weekend at Johnson’s Lake in Nebraska, we would water ski. Sometimes I’d be below the surface when the boat would circle back to get me, and the image of the dark outline of the boat moving toward me was terrifying. Like some black ghost moving across the water.

The looming, dark shape of mountains in the early morning when I’ve set off for a hike before the sun rises, make me feel uneasy.

It’s like the darkness amplifies the immensity of things. The darkness takes away all the details of the light . . . and leaves only a black shadow hovering over you.

I’ve never actually had a panic attack, but I felt like I was as close as I ever got while I was driving down the road to Moraine Lake . . . a road that I’m sure is quite beautiful in the daytime.

But, the further down the road I got, the more it felt like I was driving into the belly of a beast. Like the mountains on every side of me and in front of me were going to swallow me up.

I got to the parking lot—where there was now ample parking because there were maybe ten cars there—and bolted out of the car with my camera equipment.

I knew to head toward “the rockpile”—the place where everyone takes their epic Moraine Lake photos.

The sky was now a creepy gray, with dark clouds hovering overhead.

And I was all but sprinting up the steep quarter-mile hike to the rockpile.

When I got to the top, the only thing louder than my breathing was the wind. The wind was rippin’. . . like it was cussing me out for being up there.

Nervous, shaking, and wondering what the hell my problem was, I made my way to the edge of the rockpile.

Moraine Lake all but knocked the wind out of me—literally and figuratively. It’s one of the most beautiful creations I’ve ever seen, and the vicious wind made it hard to stand.

I wished so much that I’d dragged my ass out of bed to try to get here for the stunning sunrise shots, or that I’d at least been here during daylight hours to see it in its full glory.

But something about being there are twilight . . . in the darkness . . . felt like it was meant to be that way.

The bizarre blue lake was still glowing, even in the increasing darkness, with the looming peaks standing at attention like soldiers guarding their crown jewel.

Still breathless, trying to stay upright in the howling wind, and wishing I’d remembered to grab my headlamp out of the car, I fumbled with my camera trying to salvage some photos.

What I got, weren’t the photos I’d been dreaming of for two years . . . the color isn’t great, they’re blurry because I didn’t want to bother to set up my tripod . . . but they’re my photos. And the darkness in them captures the darkness and fear that I felt standing on that rockpile with the wind screaming at me. (And trust me, the photo seems lighter than it actually was up there).

I don’t know why this quick trip to Moraine Lake terrified me so much . . . but I think there’s a lesson about shadows in there somewhere.

I do know this: I’ll be back. I already feel the pull to go back to these epic places that I’d dreamed about for two years but didn’t get to fully appreciate because of smoke, rain, or darkness.

On September 9th, Winnie and I re-entered the United States, with another uneventful border crossing.

Our the last week in Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks can be summarized like this: a ton of smoke from wildfires in California, Oregon, Idaho, and parts of Wyoming; a ton of bison; a fabulous KOA Resort outside Glacier National Park; and some cool hot spring and geyser formations in Yellowstone.

By this point in the trip, I felt less enthused about Glacier and Yellowstone. I’ve been to Yellowstone before and, honestly, out of the 27 National Parks I’ve been to, it’s my least favorite. (Shows how awesome our national parks are if Yellowstone is at the bottom of my list). And, because Glacier and Yellowstone are relatively close to Colorado, I feel like I can make an easy trip to see them anytime I want. So I wasn’t really bothered when I drove the Going to the Sun Road in Glacier—one of the most scenic and jaw-dropping drives in the world—and couldn’t see a damn thing because the smoke had descended like a wool blanket over the park. I just laughed it off.

I even decided to head home a day early and skip the last nite of camping in Wyoming. It was supposed to thunderstorm and I . . . was done . . . with the rain. So, we drove 10 hours from Yellowstone to home . . . in mostly pouring freaking rain.

When I got close to the Colorado border, I was listening to a song called “Clearly” by Grace VanderWaal (a remake of the song “I Can See Clearly Now”). As the song played, the rain began to stop, and I could see the mountains just north of Fort Collins appearing before me. By the time the song had stopped playing, the rain had stopped pouring . . . yes, I shit you not.

We crossed the Wyoming border into Colorado and felt back at home, instantly . . .

and I could feel both the sadness and relief over this journey coming to an end.

I pulled into my driveway, took Winnie into the house, let her out in the backyard to roll around in her grass, and went out to start unloading the car.

When I walked outside and looked to the east, I saw a perfect, full rainbow in the sky . . . now, if that isn’t a “welcome home” message, I don’t what is.

A sign, perhaps? A hope that this journey could be the beginning, not the end?

Or just freaking science—water particles reflecting light—that coincidentally appeared just as I got home?

Who knows what’s true . . . what I do know, is that “coincidence” is neither helpful nor supportive. You don’t learn and grow from coincidence . . . you learn and grow from signs and your willingness to see that everywhere, every day, all around you, there are messages being sent your way.

And just like that . . . the 50 in 50 for 50 journey was over . . . a day early. But that’s ok . . . I needed at least a couple of days to fully recuperate and process this entire adventure.

Honestly, I’m still trying to process this journey . . . all of the encounters I had with amazing people . . .

the connections that I made to people, myself, and nature . . .

the met and unmet expectations—or, maybe the fact that I needed to not have any expectations at all . . .

the miles we covered . . .

the gorgeous views that we saw . . .

the invitation to sloooow down . . . way down . . .

and all of the darkness I grappled with along the way.

So for now . . . I don’t have any lessons to share. I trust that, in time, more will be revealed.

I will say that the one thing I wanted more than anything else was for Winnie and I to be safe . . . and we were . . .

we had angels in all kinds of forms watching over us.

Trail Mix

The Trail Mix for today is my full-hearted recommendation for you to read or listen to Viola Davis’ book, Finding Me. I used to like Viola Davis . . . then I binge-watched How to Get Away with Murder earlier this year and fell in love with her . . . and now, after listening to her book on Audible, I’m full-on obsessed with her. Her deep soothing voice is like a salve to my nervous system. And she doesn’t simply read her book on audio . . . she lives it . . . acts it out. It’s a joy to listen to and her story had me crying and laughing out loud in my car. If you need a healthy kick in the pants, her book will do it. From being “po” (one step below “poor” as she calls it), to being bullied and beaten, to family domestic violence, to racism, sexism, and her constant battles to be seen and taken seriously as an actor in Hollywood—her story is remarkable.

When I started this journey, I asked you to consider

“What’s one thing that I want to look or feel differently in my life?”

Some of you have shared your answer to that question with me and I am so inspired by what you’ve shared. I encourage the rest of you to share with me as well.

For me, I wanted clarity around some things I’ve been struggling with . . . the direction I want my business to go . . . the type of people with whom I want to work . . . the focus I want to have in this entrepreneurial journey.

I saw glimpses of that clarity during my trip . . . like a fuzzy picture trying to come into focus . . . but I couldn’t quite make it out.

Now that I’ve been back home for a week, this clarity has finally settled in. The picture has come clearly into focus.

And what I want to feel differently in my life is the depth of my connection . . .

connection to myself . . .

to those around me . . .

the world around me . . .

and the spirit that animates all life.

Connection . . . conscious connection to be more specific . . . is what is calling to me.

And if it’s calling to me, that means that I’m going to be inviting you along as well. So stay tuned.

In the meantime, keep your emails and comments coming because every single one of them has touched my heart.

Here’s the last meditation from the road . . . on the crystal clear waters of Emerald Lake in Yoho National Park. This short meditation will invite you to be curious about when you’re feeling impatient.

And, finally, one last photo of Winnie and me in Banff . . . two girls, smiling in the sun, with the mountains standing guard behind us.

Thank you, from the bottom of my soul, for coming along with me on this journey . . . .

With so much love and gratitude . . .