It’s been a while.
And for that I am very sorry.
See, even though I have missed you very much, I haven’t had much to say.
That’s not true.
What I mean is that I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to say.
I’ve felt for a long time that story I was telling here had come to an end. A healthy young dad had learned to accept the limits of a broken body, finding what joy he could in a new, smaller world. It even had a hopeful, if not a little bittersweet epilogue. This wasn’t the story I’d set out to tell, but it was how my life unfolded. And I am proud of it, both for how I dealt with the experiences and for how I documented them.
And second, in these times of incredible uncertainty I’ve had more questions than answers. What of meaning can you say during a time when every news cycle can completely upset our lives? How do you reflect on what is going on around you when it is so unclear where it might be going? How can you help? It’s hard not to feel very small in a world like this one.
A lot is still happening in the great green room,
And I’ve settled on the fact that it is a mistake not to write this chapter just because the last one ended,
And a mistake not to think critically about where you are just because you can’t be sure where you are going.
What should you expect from this version of Lesser Places? Kids and gear, and forests and canyons, and hunting and fishing, and naps and snacks, all the things you loved, just a little older and a little wiser than they were before.
Beyond that, no promises.
I’m just glad to have you here with me.
Max Wilson is a born and raised Arizonan with a love for all that is beautiful and strange about the Southwest. He studied at Arizona State University, where he received his PhD in ecology. He writes here at Lesser Places, occasionally for Backpacker, and even more occasionally for scientific journals. You can follow him on twitter @maxomillions.