There are a lot of things about my life right now that probably look pretty incredible from the outside.

And they are, and I am thankful. I get to travel. I get to board ships headed towards places other people save for years to visit. I wake up in different ports, wander different streets, and watch sunsets over oceans, mountains, and ice fields alike. Honestly, occasionally, I have to remind myself that somehow, inexplicably, this is my actual life.

But I’d leave it all behind tomorrow for something, immeasurably, more important.

Recently, my wife joined me on one of my cruises, and we spent a few days together afterward. Nothing about that sentence sounds particularly remarkable. A cruise. A few nights in a nice hotel. Some travel and some fun. But when you spend as much time apart as we sometimes do, a few days together stops feeling ordinary. They feel like everything.

We ate, laughed, and made memories in places we’re lucky to have even seen.

But the best parts weren’t really any of those things. The best parts were waking up and realizing she was there. Looking across the room and seeing her. Reaching for her hand without thinking about it. Having someone beside me at the end of the day who knows exactly who I am when there isn’t a story to tell.

What I am talking about is the part of my life I don’t mention very often. Maybe because I know how fortunate I am. But I miss my wife. A lot. And missing someone doesn’t become easier just because the scenery outside the window is beautiful.

Social media is good at showing the journey but terrible at showing this absence. You see the ocean but you don’t see me wishing she was there. You see the destination but you don’t see the empty side of the bed. You see the smiling photograph but you don’t hear the phone call afterward when I’d give just about anything to reach through the screen and pull her into the room.

That’s the bargain you strike sometimes when chasing a big life. And I’m grateful for mine. But the world isn’t nearly as impressive without her in it. It’s that simple.

Give me the incredible destination. Give me the balcony overlooking the ocean. And I’ll still miss sitting beside my wife doing absolutely nothing. Because somewhere along the way I realized, seeing the world and having someone to share it with are two very different things. And if I had to choose, it isn’t really a choice. I’d trade another country for another morning coffee with her. Another sudden thrill for another ordinary night together. I’d trade a thousand beautiful views for the one I’ve probably taken for granted far more times than I care to admit: her sitting across from me.

So when your gifted with the opportunity to be with your loved one, take them out for a nice dinner. Drink the bottle of wine. Drink two. Stay up later than you should. Laugh loudly. Walk somewhere without caring how long it takes to get back. And relish in the sheer, ridiculous enjoyment of getting to be with the person you can’t imaging living without. I know I will.

Adventures are wonderful, sure. But in the end, the ship always returns to port. The suitcases always get unpacked. The photographs are bound to disappear amongst the thousands of others we have in our phones. And when that is all over, you start to understand that the person you wanted beside you through all of it was, in fact, the adventure that mattered the most.

Spending money to spend time with friends and family isn’t spending money at all.

I know that sounds like one of those quotes you’d find stenciled onto a piece of reclaimed wood hanging in someone’s kitchen, but the older I get, the truer it becomes. We’re taught from a young age to think of money as something to save, invest, or spend wisely. We compare prices, hunt for deals, and convince ourselves that happiness is waiting on the other side of the next purchase. And don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a new gadget, a good meal, or a plane ticket to somewhere I’ve never been as much as the next person. But if life has taught me anything, it’s that the things worth paying for rarely fit inside a pre-prescribed box or shopping bag. They usually come with a boarding pass. Or a long drive. Or an excuse to gather around a table that’s just a little too small for everyone.

When I look back on the years that have shaped me, I don’t remember the cost of the trip or what the hotel charged for parking. I don’t remember what gas cost or whether dinner was overpriced. What I remember are the conversations that drifted late into the evening, the stories I’ve somehow heard a hundred times but still laugh at every single time, and those little moments that nobody planned but everyone remembers.

Friends and family have a funny way of doing that.

Someone always burns something on the grill…except this time because my dad let my brother cook. Someone always tells a story that gets more dramatic with every retelling. Someone insists they weren’t asleep in the recliner despite overwhelming photographic evidence…you know who I am talking about. And somehow, those tiny, ordinary moments become the memories we treasure the most.

As an author, I spend a lot of time writing about history. Gold rushes. Ghost stories. Pirates. Legends. Larger-than-life characters who chased fortunes across oceans and mountains. Yet, ironically, the richest people I’ve ever met aren’t the ones with the biggest bank accounts. They’re the ones whose calendars are full of birthdays, reunions, fishing trips, Sunday dinners, and family vacations. Their wealth isn’t measured in dollars. It’s measured in the ones around them. Maybe that’s because stories are what remain long after everything else fades.

One day, none of us will remember what we paid for airline tickets or whether we booked the expensive hotel or the budget one. We won’t remember if we found the best deal online or paid a little too much for dessert. We’ll remember sitting beside the people we love. We’ll remember watching our parents become grandparents. We’ll remember nieces and nephews growing taller every year. We’ll remember inside jokes that make absolutely no sense to anyone else and laughter that somehow echoes louder than the places we visited. Those are the souvenirs that never collect dust.

Time has a way of slipping through our fingers faster than we’d like. Kids grow up. Parents grow older. Life gets busier. Before you know it, the family photos on the wall don’t look like our family anymore. That’s why I’ve stopped looking at family trips as expenses. Because, if I’ve learned anything from writing about history, it’s this: the moments that matter most are rarely the ones that make headlines. They’re the quiet ones shared with the people who made you who you are.

Here are a few photos from a couple weeks I decided to stop counting, slow down, and spend time with the ones I love:

Okay, so, yes. Just like the title says, today was 100% the best day I’ve had on board.  But it isn’t for the reasons you’d think.

Yes, its true that for any true Canadian/Alaskan, a good day starts with good weather. And, yes. It was 65 and sunny rolling through Glacier Bay today. I took my lid off, wore a T-shirt and shorts (not that I am supposed to), and the ship was able to get closer to the glacier’s than we have all summer:

We even saw seals:

And yes, I certainly can’t complain about the absolute feast that was dinner. I mean, who can choose between freshly sautéed Mongolian beef and vegetables, prime rib, or freshly made sushi?

But the real reason I am writing this post is not the views or the food, it’s a single comment from a woman who attended one of my presentations. And this comment has changed my outlook for my talks.

The woman’s husband had passed before being able to join her on the cruise. He had been a university professor, and because of this his wife had travelled with him to hear him speak at plenty of seminars, symposiums, conventions, and conferences–and whatever other word you want to use for people speaking on stage. And after attending my program, while I was wrapping things up, she felt the need to come up to the stage and tell me something. Her comment was:

“You remind me of my husband. Even though you’re the one standing on the stage, I never felt like I was being lectured or spoon fed a lesson. It felt like we were just having a conversation.”

Moving forward, I will forever strive to give this experience to every one of my audiences.

A Hoonah Matata

I have circled this day on my calendar ever since it popped up on my schedule.

Hoonah is not far from Juneau, roughly 4-hours by ferry away. There are discounts on the ferry for neighbors day. The world’s (second) largest zipline. Plenty of reasons to bite the bullet to take the trip. And yet, in the more than 10 years of living in Juneau I never have. And guess what, that is a mistake I have to live with. Because Hoonah is awesome!

Now, there is the matter of the distance between the cruise ports and town, the overpriced gondola that only takes you to Icy Straight Point, and the entire artificial Ice Straight Point area in general. And I am unapologetic in saying this, it is places like these that prevent people from experiencing actual Alaska.

If you are one of these tourists that got caught in this trap, that is unfortunate. Because Hoonah, despite being a very tiny village, contains all that is small town Alaska. Walking streets. Kind people. Beautiful views. A bear or two if you are lucky. And it is only a mile and a half away!

If you are capable, do the walk. It is well worth it.

And if these views aren’t enough, they also have a fantastic brewery.

Ground Control to Major Tom…The Captain Has the Con

Alright, I am mixing references in that title, but I am beside myself with my experience today!

As a recap, I am now on my fourth ship of the summer and I haven’t crashed and/or burned. I am still wrecked with anxiety every day I have to present, and I spent most of my time onboard rehearsing, but it is getting easier. I am slowly leaning into this lifestyle of free food and no dishes. And you will all be proud of me, I can confidently say that I have yet to drink a sip of alcohol onboard. Not that I am an alcoholic or anything–or at least one that can’t perform after polishing off a case of wobbly pops the night before. But it feels good. I feel healthy

Ironically, though, earlier today I was violently hungover haha! The last two days have been spent  in Juneau catching up with friends, which led to my foggy head and uneasy stomach. But this morning I received an opportunity I simply could not pass up. I was invited to the the Bridge of the ship to meet the captain and witness Glacier Bay from a seat cruisers can only dream of.

I took full advantage and it is a memory I won’t soon forget. At this point, though, I am going to take a nap.

Apologies for the blurry photos. I was hungover, remember?