Backpacks

My therapist asked how I knew Travis + I would be together and my eyes fell to her backpack in the room (I love that she has a BP too/still/of course). I told her we packed up our backpacks the same, got up at the same moment, and walked out the door together. And, then she looked at me quizzically. I said, our metronomes, our processes, what mattered (how we did it), our movement, our rhythms all the same and of course neither walked in front or behind but out side by side. If someone fumbled there was no power (blech) at play, only care, the other would jump in to help so we’d stand up together, at the same moment, hold hands and walk out. I knew we’d be together because our metronomes flowed (well, maybe it’s more torpedoed) next to one another. We packed up our backpacks the same.

I documented that metronome everyday. I love to watch Trav move. So beautifully, intentionally, boldly and with so much love. So many photographs. So many videos of my Love.

I loved to watch his own means to create grow over the years. He fell in love with video, the drone, our gimble. I could often convince Trav to join me for Bonus Neighborhood Miles but occasionally he would revolt and stay home. A lot of times on those runs, Char and I would eventually hear a whoosh whoosh whoosh and look up and there would be the drone to follow us along. He loved to watch us move. Trav would be laying in the tub or sitting on the front porch following our run from above. 

Char + I would both giggle. Trav would too, I am sure. 
I was always watching him move.
He was always watching me. 
We packed up our backpacks the same.