“If You’re Bored You’re Missing Something” -Alaska

Some days, I just stop and look around—really look and take it all in—and I can’t believe this is where I get to call home. Southeast Alaska. Where the trees are ancient, the air smells like rain and salt, and whales literally show up on your Tuesday night beach walk like it’s no big deal.

The moss is electric green, the water is glacier-fed, and the skies—on the rare day they decide to be blue—are the kind of blue that makes your heart ache. It’s wild. It’s unpredictable. It’s beautiful in a way that demands your attention. And yet… some people will say, “There’s nothing to do here. This island is boring”

If that’s you—first of all, genuinely, I’m worried about you, are you okay?

Here’s the thing: If you’re bored in Alaska, it might not be Alaska’s fault.….

Because where else can you hike a mountain, catch dinner, see a bear (hopefully from far away), get rained on seven different times, and still end the day with the most breathtaking beach sunset beaming behind islands you can only name if you’ve lived here long enough?

Sure, it’s not always easy. The weather tests your patience. The long dark winters certainly test your vitamin D levels. And don’t even get me started on trying to keep small children clean when there’s mud and rock beaches calling their name. But still—there’s so much magic here. And if you stop seeing it, maybe it’s time to slow down. Maybe shake up your perspective. Or honestly… book a one-way ticket to a big flat concrete city. To each their own.

But here, we don’t just live in nature—we live with it. We let it remind us that beauty doesn’t need to be filtered. That joy looks like wet socks, messy kids, and cold fingers held over a warm fire. That peace doesn’t always come with quiet—it comes with presence.

So I’ll keep showing up for it. The fog, the moss, the tide pools, the ravens, the humpbacks, the chilly breeze that sneaks down the back of your raincoat. I’ll keep being amazed. Every. Single. Time. Because this place? It never stops giving me something to be grateful for.

And if I ever do start to take it for granted, I hope someone drags me outside, shakes me up, and makes me sit in the rain until I remember.