You don’t know what you have until it’s gone

I’m sitting in my quiet office on the second floor of Louisiana State University’s Coast and Environment building. The hum of the A/C saturates sound in the background and is only disturbed by the occasional patter of feet along the hallway outside my door.

A quick glance out the window is met with green leafy trees rustling in the wind. Two squirrels chase each other across the branches of a near tree.

The other day I read a book from a hammock strung along the banks of the mighty Mississippi, watching the turbid water lap at the roots of maple, ash, and oak trees.

A friend and I took our bikes down the levee to Baton Rouge’s city center and grabbed some delicious beignets.

A slackline session along the lakes bordering campus brought some great discussion with a close buddy.

To be honest, I’ll miss Baton Rouge.

Inside the old state capitol building

These past six months have been a struggle to stifle the desire to simply move on. I often try fruitlessly to see what lies around the coming corner, rather than absorb the things on my doorstep. Right here. Right now.

Much of my time in Louisiana has been spent missing Colorado. The mountains. The friends. The family. But, the more I think about it, the more I realize I do have family here in Baton Rouge now. I’m just sad it took this long to realize it.

Goofing off with some climbing friends

Take a second and soak in where you are in this moment. You’re better off than you think.

The field outside of the Coast and Environment building

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