The last time I was in Tahoe during the Summer was twelve years ago, when I first started out being somewhat serious with solo travel and developing My Walkabout. My sister was still alive and our family was normal and “happy”.

I return this last June, just as the last of the snowpack from the mountains was melting into the pristine blue waters. “Happy” is a strange phrase to me now. I had a bevy of conflicting emotions following me everywhere I went, seemingly unable to shake them out of my head.

So I roll with it as I climb mountains, watch people sunbath on the dock, and cloudburst the days away.

Twelve years is nothing to the Earth, and the changes in myself from then until now can’t be seen by Mother Nature. I try to keep that thought in perspective, remembering that all things come with time and patience.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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