Healing, Adventures & Simple Joys

Escaping to Reset

“Let’s go for a drive!” I said to my husband.

He looked at me without hesitation, “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure. Somewhere I can relax my mind and breathe without all the noise.”

He knows what that means—it’s time to head for the mountains.

These spontaneous drives have become part of my healing ritual. No plans. No schedule. Just the urge to escape stress and reset my nervous system.

Packing for Peace

We pack just enough for an overnight trip—just in case we find ourselves deep on a back road without cell service or signs of life.

Water bottles. Bear spray. Blankets. Extra clothes. Shoes. And of course—snacks.

We tell our teenage boys where we’re heading and roughly where we’ll be (thank you, phone tracking apps). As a mom, that little breadcrumb trail of digital safety gives me peace of mind.

Sometimes we bring the dogs, but if we plan to stop in a small-town diner or bakery, they stay home. I hate leaving them in the truck while we eat.

The Drive That Heals

“Alright, let’s head west and figure it out once we pass Sundre,” I say, and we’re off.

I usually spend the first part of the drive unloading everything that’s been building up inside. My husband listens without interruption—he’s learned this is part of how I process.

Internally, I’m sure he’s thinking, “Does this woman ever take a breath?” (He’s not wrong.)

As a kid, I was told I could talk the ear off a cob of corn. And honestly? Not much has changed.

Work stress. Home stress. Hormonal chaos. I try not to act like a psycho perimenopausal wife and mom, but sometimes it all gets to be too much. My husband has a gift for bringing me back down—whether it’s through a quiet presence, a joke, or just a well-timed “you’re doing your best.” I love him for that.

Wild Roads & Calmer Hearts

We eventually hit a dirt road and decide to explore an area he’s considering for hunting this fall. We get out to stretch and hike, breathe in the mountain air. That first deep breath hits differently.

Growing up in a mountain valley, I was used to seeing bears every spring—grizzlies in the backyard, black bears on the way to school. Yet somehow, I’m still terrified of them.

I ask if he brought the bear spray and rifle. He nods, “Yes, babe. I have everything we need.”

Thank God for men who overpack.

The Moment I Could Breathe Again

As we crest the hill, the view stops me in my tracks. Mountain peaks. A wide-open sky. That quiet kind of stillness that presses pause on everything.

We drop our bags, eat a snack, and just be. He asks, “Feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

And I mean it.

What I’m Learning on These Drives

As we headed home, I felt lighter. Not because the stress had disappeared, but because I had let it breathe.

Nature has a way of reminding me that peace isn’t something I wait for—it’s something I go find.

Life after 40 isn’t a slow fade—it’s a fierce, beautiful return to myself.

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