A Story

"Well there goes my dancing partner", a disgruntled friend mumbled under his breath. It was Thursday night, our weekly go-climbing-then-go-dancing night, but this week there was a surprise. My friend had invited John along, not knowing we knew each other.

I hadn't seen John in three years. We had climbed together then, when I was at the gym 4-5 nights a week, but had fallen out of touch. Turns out we had taken turns traveling and living in Richmond, missing each other every time.
 That summer, we picked right up where we left off, climbing, playing kickball, and generally being goofy. But as the summer wound down, I got anxious- that summer lovin' was coming to an end and I had an impending plane ticket to Ghana.

It hurt to interrupt such a good thing for so long, but I left with a brave smile and a "see you later", knowing "later" couldn't come soon enough. Luckily I didn't have to wait long. John quit his job, let visa sponsor his plane ticket, and chased me to Ghana two months later. There we made our first joint purchase (the African painting prominently hanging on our boat) and talked about our future.

We were both ready for a new town, new opportunities, and new careers. We wanted a city with rocks to climb, water to sail, and jobs to have. So three months after I returned from Ghana, we packed up the truck with everything we owned and started a 6-week, 7,000-mile, life-changing trek across the great USofA. We friend-hopped across the country, sleeping on couches, in tents, or crammed into the back of the truck. We cooked most of our meals on a campstove, but caved and bought frosties every time we saw a Wendy's.

When we left Richmond everything was happy and profitable, but by the time we pulled into Seattle, broke and bedraggled, so was the country.  We crashed on the couch of the only people we knew in Seattle for "a couple weeks" (read: 2 months) while we found jobs, housing, and ourselves in this giant congested city. The longer we lived in Ballard, the further we migrated onto the water, until we finally gave up resistance and bought a boat (I just effectively summed up two years of learning, searching, and agonizing into one neat sentance-nice!).

Life sped up after that, and somehow three months after buying the boat and 10 days after getting the visa for our new job, we found ourselves sailing up the west coast of Canada, headed for yet another adventure together.

Now we live on Denny Island, in the middle of a temperate (very-rainy) rainforest, working to protect this fragile ecosystem.

We challenge, encourage, support, and entertain each other. Many would shudder at the number of drastic changes we have made in the last few years. For instance, last year we:

• lived in a house
• that we rented
• with five people and three dogs
• that had a yard
• and running water
• in a city of 2.7 million people
• in America

And now we:

• live on a sailboat
• that we own
• by ourselves (well, with Chaco)
• that has the Pacific ocean as a yard
• but no running water
• on an island with 80 full-time residents
• in Canada

All of this change doesn't matter, though, because the most important thing in my life- the love of my life- my best friend- is constant. His devotion is unwavering, his strength steady, and his love enduring.