3:13 a.m.

Its becoming evident that adventures are best enjoyed in either anticipation or memory. Lewis once wrote “One of the drawbacks of adventure is that when you come to the most beautiful places you are often too anxious and hurried to appreciate them.” 

We just got back from our second family camping trip and while pictures show all the good, reality was more complex. The three year old crying over actual spilled milk. The five year old complaining about, well everything. And us in our thirties anxiously looking for those moments we envision so vividly. 

After a satisfying evening of success with stress, we were chased into the tent as the sun was replaced by clouds of mosquitoes. Camping on the banks of a marsh is risky business in East Texas. The sleep was clunky thanks to an attentive guard dog at our feet. Every hour or so he’d alert us of … we never quite fully knew. But at 3:13, after another aimless growl, the moon kept me up with an entourage of stars. I laid there next to my boys, next to my bride, awake with my dog, and just listened for a moment to the absence of sound. 

“We’re creating something here,” I thought, “a little family, future men, a passion for adventure.” I often forget where I am in this grand story. Absorbed in the fair of vanity, yet positioned below majesty. Calvin once told Hobbes “If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they’d live a lot differently.” 

It’s an odd memory to want to hold on to, but 3:13 was the best part of this little trip. There were other great things, but ultimately I didn’t appreciate them as they were happening. 3:13 however… It was one of the few times I realized who was beside me and chose to neglect what was next. For a moment, we were just camping, and that’s arguably all that matters.