Four months ago, I packed up my life, loaded my little dog Lucy into the car, and drove away from Texas.
I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I didn’t have a perfect itinerary. I didn’t know how long I would stay in each place. And I certainly didn’t know everything that would happen along the way.
I only knew that I needed to leave. I needed space. I needed quiet. I needed to breathe.
I needed to hear my own thoughts without everyone else’s voices surrounding them.
So I left Texas with Lucy, a car full of camping gear, a little faith, and a whole lot of uncertainty.
Four months later, I am back in Texas temporarily—and I am still trying to process everything that happened.
Because this wasn’t just a road trip.
It was an experience that changed me.
Ten Days on a Mountain
One of the first places that really slowed me down was Santa Cruz Lake Recreation Area in New Mexico. I found an overlook campground high on the mountain, overlooking the lake, and stayed there for ten days.
Ten days.
That’s a long time when you’re used to constantly moving. And it became one of the places where I really began to understand what I was doing.
I wasn’t simply traveling. I was learning how to be somewhere. Every morning I could look out at the lake and the surrounding landscape.
There was no rush. No schedule. No one telling me where I needed to be. Just Lucy, me, the mountain and the view.
Those ten days gave me a chance to settle into my new reality. I was camping. I was living simply. I was learning how to manage my electricity, water, food and belongings. I was learning how to make a small space feel like home. And I was learning that I actually liked this life.
Following the Mountains Through New Mexico
New Mexico became a huge part of this journey.
I spent a tremendous amount of time in the Carson National Forest, exploring mountain roads, forests, lakes and little places that never would have appeared on a traditional vacation itinerary.
I went to Nambe Falls Dam and Reservoir, and I explored the surrounding landscapes.
I visited Cliff Palace, standing among the ancient dwellings and thinking about the people who lived here so long before us.
There is something different about being physically present in these places. You don’t just learn history. You feel time. You realize that people have been living, loving, surviving, building, leaving and returning to these landscapes for thousands of years.
And Then There Was Chimayó
Toward the end of my New Mexico travels, I visited Santuario de Chimayó.
This was one of the places that felt especially meaningful to me. I’ve always been drawn toward places that carry a sense of spirituality and sacredness. Chimayó wasn’t simply another stop on a map.
It felt like a place where generations of people had come carrying their hopes, prayers, pain and faith. And being there near the end of this particular chapter felt appropriate.
I had left Texas looking for something. I wasn’t sure what. Maybe I was looking for healing. Maybe freedom. Maybe clarity. Maybe simply myself. Perhaps I found pieces of all of those things along the way.
Four Corners—and the Road Into Arizona
Eventually Lucy and I continued west. We stopped at Four Corners, standing at the place where four states meet.
Colorado.
New Mexico.
Arizona.
Utah.
It was one of those classic road-trip moments where you realize just how far you’ve come. From there, we eventually made our way into Arizona. And Arizona was another world entirely.
The Grand Canyon
I finally made it to the Grand Canyon.
There are places you can see in photographs your entire life. And then you stand there. The scale is almost impossible to comprehend. You can look at pictures and understand what the Grand Canyon looks like. But standing there is different.
The depth.
The colors.
The layers.
The silence.
The sheer size of it.
It makes you feel very small. And somehow that can be comforting.
Horseshoe Bend and Glen Canyon
From the Grand Canyon area, I traveled toward Page, Arizona.
I visited Horseshoe Bend and then spent time in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area.
This was also where I had my first encounter with chipmunks. It sounds like such a small thing. But when you’re living differently, small things become big things. I had never paid much attention to chipmunks before. Suddenly they were part of our world.
Lucy noticed them too. Of course she did.
Lee’s Ferry
We also spent time around Lee’s Ferry.
And this place was spectacular. Absolutely spectacular. The river, the cliffs, the colors, the enormous canyon walls…There were moments when I would just sit there and stare.
I kept thinking:
How is this real?
Some landscapes don’t seem like they belong on Earth. They look like another planet. Lee’s Ferry was one of those places for me.
Kaibab National Forest
We spent a lot of time in the Kaibab National Forest.
Forest after desert after canyon. That became one of the amazing things about this journey. You could drive for hours and the landscape would completely change.
One day you’re surrounded by pine trees. The next you’re looking across a desert.Then you’re standing beside a river beneath enormous canyon walls.
I began to understand why people fall in love with the Southwest. There is always another landscape around the next corner.
And Then There Was Utah
We drove through Utah.
And…
we didn’t see much.
Not because Utah wasn’t beautiful. Because it rained the entire time. Sometimes travel isn’t glamorous. Sometimes you spend hours driving through a beautiful state while staring through a windshield covered in rain. That’s part of the story too.
Not every day is a sunset.
Not every campsite is paradise.
And not every destination works out the way you imagine.
But you keep going.
Colorado National Monument
Eventually we made our way back toward Colorado and stayed around the Colorado National Monument.
The red rock country was incredible. Colorado kept giving me these enormous contrasts—red cliffs, high mountains, forests, rivers and wide-open skies. And then we found one of our favorite places of the entire trip.
Cottonwood Grove: Our Little Paradise
Cottonwood Grove Campground became one of Lucy’s and my favorite places.
Trees.
A running river.
Shade.
Peace.
And lizards everywhere.
Lucy absolutely loved the lizards. She would chase them around like it was her personal job.
Getting there was another story. The roads were crazy. There were moments when I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
But once we arrived…
Paradise.
It was one of those places where you understand why you endure the difficult road. Because sometimes the crazy road leads somewhere magical.
Black Canyon and the Uncompahgre
We continued through Black Canyon of the Gunnison and the Uncompahgre National Forest.
Again, I found myself surrounded by landscapes that were almost too big to take in.
There were mountains, forests, cliffs and winding roads.
The Million Dollar Highway
I drove the Million Dollar Highway three times.
Yes.
Three.
And every time it was incredible. The mountains seemed to rise straight out of the road. The views were enormous. The road itself demanded respect.
There were moments when I thought:
What am I doing?
And then I would look around and realize exactly what I was doing.
I was living.
Really living.
And Then I Saw the Tiger
One of the most unbelievable experiences happened at Lower Hermosa Campground in the San Juan National Forest.
I saw a tiger.
Well…
Not a tiger.
A large mountain cat that looked like a tiger to me in that moment.
And she had a cub. I saw them. I know what I saw. And I didn’t get a picture. Of course I didn’t. Because sometimes the most incredible things happen when you aren’t prepared with a camera. I watched them move quickly through the landscape.
And then they were gone.
No photograph.
No proof.
Just the experience.
But I don’t need a photograph to know what I saw. Some moments belong only to the person who experienced them.
Pagosa Springs
Then came Pagosa Springs.
I stayed along the Piedra River and the San Juan River, surrounded by trees, water and mountains.
This was exactly the kind of camping I had dreamed about.
Free or inexpensive public land.
Trees.
Water.
Cooler temperatures.
Beautiful views.
Quiet.
I wanted to stay. So I did. I stayed several nights in different areas and eventually found myself reluctant to leave.
Then the Weather Changed Everything
The Southwest weather became part of my travel companion.
Rain.
Cold fronts.
Flash-flood concerns.
Changing conditions.
There were days when it seemed like it was raining everywhere. I moved my belongings into the tent. Packed what I could. Watched weather maps.
Waited. Then packed again. Eventually I moved south and east.
That was one of the biggest lessons of this journey:
You cannot control the weather.
You can only respond to it. And sometimes the smartest thing you can do is leave a beautiful place.
Navajo Dam, Aztec and Ancient Places
I spent time around Navajo Dam and then went to Aztec to visit the ruins. I explored ancient structures and thought about how many generations have walked these lands.
Then I continued through New Mexico again.
The journey kept circling back through places I had already been. And every time I returned, I was a little different.
Abiquiú Lake
I eventually returned to Riana–Abiquiú Lake, where I had stayed earlier in my journey.
There was something comforting about returning to a familiar place. But this time, my body reminded me that I had limits. I experienced severe dizziness and what appeared to be altitude sickness.
That was scary. It forced me to slow down and listen. This journey wasn’t about proving how tough I could be. It was about learning how to take care of myself.
Cochiti Lake
From there I went to Cochiti Lake, where I spent several days while the rain continued.
The weather wasn’t cooperating with my plans. But by then I had learned something important. I didn’t need everything to go according to plan. I could simply adapt.
The Unexpected Lessons
When people hear “four-month sabbatical,” they might imagine carefree days of sightseeing. And there certainly were plenty of those.
But there were also breakdowns.
Mechanical problems.
Crazy roads.
Rain.
Cold.
Altitude.
Changing plans.
Finding places that were closed.
Leaving places earlier than I wanted.
Searching for somewhere safe to stay.
Learning how to live with limited resources.
Figuring out where I could camp.
Figuring out where I couldn’t.
There were moments when I was scared. There were moments when I was lonely. And there were moments when I felt completely free. All of those things can exist at the same time.
Lucy’s Four-Month Adventure
She explored rivers.
She chased lizards.
She watched chipmunks.
She walked through forests.
She sat beside me overlooking lakes.
She experienced mountains and deserts.
She adapted to new places over and over again.
She didn’t care what state we were in.
She didn’t care what campground we were staying at.
She just wanted to know:
Where are we sleeping tonight, Mama?
And then she was happy. There is something I could learn from that.
I Saw More Than I Can Remember
When I look back at these four months, I realize there are places I haven’t even mentioned.
There were so many campgrounds.
So many forests.
So many lakes.
So many rivers.
So many overlooks.
So many little roads.
So many towns.
So many nights beneath the stars.
So many mornings waking up and wondering what the day would bring.
And there were so many places that Lucy and I stayed that I still need to process.
I took photographs.
I made videos.
I wrote things down.
I tried to remember.
But sometimes I think my mind simply couldn’t absorb it all.
It was too much beauty.
Too much change.
Too much freedom.
Too much life happening at once.
What I Was Really Doing Out There
At first, I thought I was taking a sabbatical. Now I realize I was learning how to live differently.
I learned that I can travel alone.
I learned that I can make decisions for myself.
I learned that I can solve problems.
I learned that I can change plans.
I learned that I can live with uncertainty.
I learned that I don’t need nearly as much as I once thought.
I learned that a river can be entertainment.
A mountain can be therapy.
A sunset can be an event.
A quiet morning can be enough.
And a little dog can be your entire family.
I Found Myself in the Quiet
There were days when I didn’t talk to another person for hours. Sometimes longer. And instead of feeling empty, I found myself becoming comfortable with the quiet.
I could hear birds.
Water.
Wind through trees.
Rain against the tent.
My own thoughts.
And somewhere in all that quiet, I began hearing myself again. That’s something I had been missing for a very long time.
And Then I Came Home
On September 23, I returned to Texas. For now. I came home because life called me back.
There is a medical situation involving family that needs my attention, and sometimes life doesn’t follow the itinerary we make for ourselves. I have other legal responsibilities to tend to with a new car from Arizona.
So I’m here.
I’m resting.
I’m processing.
I’m taking care of what needs to be taken care of. But I don’t feel like the woman who left four months ago.
She was searching. I’m not sure I have found everything I was looking for. But I found something important.
I found myself.
This Isn’t the End of the Road
I don’t see this return to Texas as the end. I see it as another pause. Another chapter. Another place to regroup.
There are still mountains calling my name. There are still forests I want to explore. There are still rivers I want to wake up beside. There are still sacred places I want to visit. There are still stories I want to tell. And there are still places Lucy and I haven’t seen.
The road isn’t finished with us.
Why I’m Sharing This
I’ve decided to share this journey not just because I want people to see beautiful places.
I want people to see what happens when you give yourself permission to step outside the life you’ve always known.
Sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until you’re forced to figure things out yourself.
Sometimes you don’t know what you need until you get away from everything you’ve always known.
And sometimes you have to drive thousands of miles before you realize that the journey was never really about the destination.
It was about becoming someone new.
And That’s Where My Fundraiser Comes In
This journey has also come with real financial costs.
Gas.
Vehicle repairs.
Camping equipment.
Food.
Maintenance.
Insurance.
Unexpected expenses.
And now that I’m temporarily back in Texas, I’m working on getting my finances caught up so that I can continue moving toward the life I’m building. My fundraiser isn’t simply about paying for a vacation. This is about supporting a transition.
A new chapter. A simpler way of living.
A life where I can continue traveling, writing, sharing these experiences, creating spiritual content, helping others and documenting what I discover along the way.
If you are able to contribute, every amount helps.
If you aren’t able to contribute financially, sharing this story helps too.
And if all you can do is follow along, read my stories, look at my photographs and cheer Lucy and me on…
that matters too.
Four Months Later
Four months ago, I drove away from Texas wondering what would happen.
I had no idea I would stand at Four Corners.
No idea I would see the Grand Canyon.
No idea I would stand at Horseshoe Bend.
No idea I would discover Lee’s Ferry.
No idea I would spend so much time in Kaibab National Forest.
No idea I would drive through Utah in the rain.
No idea Cottonwood Grove would become one of our favorite places.
No idea I would drive the Million Dollar Highway three times.
No idea I would see a mountain cat and her cub.
No idea I would spend ten days on a mountain overlooking Santa Cruz Lake.
No idea I would chase weather across several states.
No idea I would experience altitude sickness.
No idea my vehicle would fail and I would end up buying a different one.
No idea I would find so many beautiful places.
And absolutely no idea that I would come home carrying this many memories.
There Is Still So Much to Process
I keep thinking about all those campground sites.
All those rivers.
All those mountains.
All those people I crossed paths with.
All those places Lucy and I called home for a night—or a week—or ten days.
It was a lot.
Maybe too much to process all at once. So I’m giving myself permission to take my time. I don’t have to understand everything that happened. I can simply be grateful that it happened.
I can remember the rain.
The mountains.
The red rocks.
The forests.
The rivers.
The chipmunks.
The lizards.
The ancient ruins.
The sacred places.
The crazy roads.
The quiet mornings.
The spectacular views.
The unexpected wildlife.
And that little yellow mountain cat I swear I saw.
No picture.
Just a memory.
The Woman Who Left Is Not the Woman Who Came Home
I left Texas needing to escape. I came home knowing I can leave again. That’s a very different thing. I now know that I can create a life that looks different from the one I thought I was supposed to live.
I know that I can take my home with me.
I know that I can find beauty in places I’ve never been.
I know that I can handle hard days. And I know that I can wake up one morning, look at a map and say:
“I think we’re going this way.” And go.
Maybe that is what freedom feels like.
Not knowing exactly what happens next…but trusting yourself enough to find out.
Until the Road Calls Again
For now, Lucy and I are home.
We’re resting.
We’re processing.
We’re remembering.
And I’m beginning to put all these experiences into stories.
Because four months is a long time.
There is no way to fit it all into one blog post.
There are photographs I haven’t shared.
Stories I haven’t told.
Places I haven’t written about.
And lessons I’m still discovering.
So this isn’t the final story.
It’s the beginning of telling the story. Thank you for coming along with me. Thank you for following the journey. Thank you for every message, every prayer, every encouraging word, every share and every donation. You helped make this journey feel less like something I was doing alone. And maybe that’s the greatest lesson of all.
We may travel our own roads…but we don’t have to travel them alone.
The road is still calling.
And when the time is right,
Lucy and I will answer.
❤️
— Pam
Mystic Moon Mama
