It was early April when I picked up my dear friend Valerie from the airport. We had a three-day girls trip planned in the Columbia River Gorge, staying at a beautiful cabin, tucked away with its very own hot springs. I had spent the last two weeks working like mad to prepare—prepping listings, wrapping up projects, and creating space so I could actually be in the moment. It took discipline, effort, and intention. But I was ready. I thought I needed this break more than anything.
Val’s flight arrived around noon, but we couldn’t check into the cabin until 4 p.m. So I asked her, “What do you want to do?” In true Val fashion, she replied, “I’m up for anything.” That’s just who she is.
I suggested a hike. And what better welcome to Oregon than a stop at Angel’s Rest? The trailhead was perfectly situated between the airport and the cabin. It’s one of my favorite starter hikes—gorgeous, accessible, and soul-soothing. We had my dog True with us, so we took our time, soaking up the mossy trails, dramatic views, and peaceful stillness. The weather was perfect—no wind, blue skies with puffy clouds—and a professional photographer even captured a photo of us at the viewpoint. It felt like the universe was cheering us on.
But as we returned to the car around 3 p.m., that magic shattered.
The back window was smashed. Glass everywhere. I opened the hatch. Every piece of luggage—gone.
That moment defined the trip. It was a pivot. A reckoning.
I called my insurance agent and calmly explained what had happened. He was kind and apologetic. I remember Valerie looking at me with wide eyes and asking, “Are you always this calm in situations like this?”
“Yes,” I replied. And she said something I’ll never forget: “Do you know how unusual that is?”
Turns out, she’s the same way.
We stood there, brushing thousands of glass shards out of the car, making sure True didn’t cut her paws, calling Bruce to swap vehicles so we could keep going. We didn’t return home to gather more things. We just… moved forward.
That decision—to keep moving forward—was everything.
As we drove through the Gorge, cold wind whistling through the busted window, we let go. Of the trip we thought we’d have. Of the belongings we’d packed. Of the illusion of control.
We stopped at a local grocery store for the basics—a toothbrush, some snacks—and headed to the cabin. Valerie looked around our mostly empty space and quipped, “Well, we don’t have a lot to unpack.” We laughed.
That night, we both admitted how much we hate shopping. But the next day, we drove to Hood River and spent nearly three hours joyfully replacing what we’d lost. Valerie dove in—new Uggs, hiking shoes, shirts, killer hiking pants and sports bras. I took a different approach. The night before, I mentally listed all the items I had lost. Every time I thought I was done, I’d remember something else. It’s astonishing how much you can fit into one small suitcase.
But with every item, I asked myself: Would I replace this? Not everything made the cut.
I bought a single pair of yoga pants, a short and long sleeve top, and a couple of underwear. That was it.
We spent the next 2.5 days soaking in hot springs, hiking in silence and conversation, eating good food, and simply being. We rounded Mount Hood and watched the weather shift—sun to clouds to snow—all in the span of an hour. Nature reminding us that everything is temporary. Everything changes.
And with each moment, I found myself thinking less about what I’d lost, and more about what I was choosing to carry forward.
The suitcase had been packed with my favorites—my favorite jeans, sneakers, raincoat, even some beloved gifts I never bought myself. But losing them reminded me of a lesson I’ve seen time and again in my work with home buyers and sellers:
Every object holds energy.
It takes energy to buy, to maintain, to store, to think about our things. And sometimes, when we let them go, we get that energy back. We get to start fresh—with intention.
For sellers, it’s about clearing space and choosing what memories to keep. For buyers, it’s about not clinging too tightly to a list, or an ideal, and missing the deeper magic that’s waiting to be discovered.
This trip gave me that. Clarity. Simplicity. Perspective.
And the best part? I had Valerie with me. She was the perfect partner for this unexpected journey. From the first moment I met her, I knew I wanted to know her more. She felt the same. That kind of friendship is a rare gift.
The trip didn’t go as planned.
It went better.
