At the writing of this book, I am 45-years old. Your mother, the same. As adults in their mid-40s go, we are relatively healthy, or so we’ve been told. We live in a small, but adequate apartment, high in the mountains of Colorado. Through windows on the north side stands a tall mountain that over millions of years has taken the form of an offshore ocean swell rolling slowly toward the coast. Near the summit are sloping meadows of evergreens and aspens. In mid to late September the aspen leaves turn gold. In winter, the upper reaches are white with snow. When summer comes the trees bloom once again and the mountain turns bright green. The view of this mountain is altered daily by sunlight, clouds, even rainbows. We have called this place home for over ten years and to this day the view never fails to inspire. More than once, while peering at the mountain through the upstairs bedroom window, my eyes have filled with tears. 

At this age, I have little in the way of material possessions that concern me. My wedding ring. An acoustic guitar. The pocket bible of a friend who died young. A Hermes tie from his father that I wore to my friend’s funeral, and later his father’s. A pair of moccasins bought in Taos for my first born by another friend who also died young. A few boxes of old photographs. A significant number of books. Some journals and personalized notes from my parents and your mom. A series of three portraits depicting each of you that were painted by a local artist. These are my most cherished possessions. At the moment, I don’t know that I need anything more. 

Life, however, is not quite as simple as I have made it sound. I’m often confused as to the purpose of my constant striving. Monetarily, we never seem to have enough and this causes great strain. I never stop thinking and am almost always exhausted. Is there one thing that will make me content once and for all? What is it that will help us, as a family, attain a sustainable happiness? Is it more money? A larger home? Some greater level of achievement? Stronger faith? 

A recurring burden is the sense that we must have more. It has been my wish to move you girls and your mother into a more spacious home, leaving behind this small apartment and the neighbors who lack decency enough to keep their homes neat and tidy. A home that makes you excited to invite friends over to spend the night. With each passing day, this urgency grows. I want to put you in a better place, it is my greatest desire, yet I have not been able to figure out a way to do so. 

While this anxiety builds, I cannot help but acknowledge the fact that our family needs little else. We live in what I believe is one of the most beautiful towns in the world. A town with excellent schools, friendly people, and low crime. A town where people think and dream big. Granted, this is due in part to the fact that they can afford to, but that does not diminish the value of such ambition. After all, imagining something is achievable is the first step in actually achieving it. Having been able to create a life in this town, for me, is a victory in itself.