If you’d asked me a year ago where I’d be today, I probably would’ve said something wonderfully ordinary.

Still living in my little house. Still working my job. Still planning a future that looked neat and predictable.

Life, apparently, had other plans.

Within a short span of time, I lost both of my parents, the two people who always made the world feel steady beneath my feet. Then came the kind of quiet that changes you. The kind that makes you question everything you’ve been doing and ask yourself, If not now… when?

A few months later, a postcard showed up in my mailbox.

No return address. Just a picture of a lighthouse and a familiar handwriting on the back.

It was from my ex-fiancé.

“Heard you got an invite to the wedding too! Hope you’ll make it, I’m really excited to see you there.”

I laughed. Then I cried. Then I read it three more times.

It was strange how one little postcard could remind me that time keeps moving whether we’re ready or not.

I looked around my house,the same walls, the same routines, the same dreams I’d been putting off, and decided I couldn’t stay still anymore.

So I quit my job.

I packed up my camera gear, my journals, my watercolor paints, a few too many sweaters, and hit the road.

Because if I have a year before that wedding, why not take the long way there?

I’m a photographer by trade and an artist by heart. I collect memories made at coffee shops, handwritten notes, old bookstores, tiny harbor towns, and conversations with strangers. I love music that makes you roll the windows down and sing too loudly. I believe every place has a story and every person has something to teach us.

For the next year, I’ll be wandering the Eastern United States, exploring small towns, finding hidden gems, getting myself into situations I probably shouldn’t, and hopefully figuring out who I am in this new season of life.

Along the way, I’ve been writing letters, sketching maps, collecting little treasures, taking photographs, and mailing them all back home to my cousin, Jessie, who’s keeping an eye on my house while I’m gone.

At least… that’s where they’re supposed to be going.

For some reason, they keep ending up in your mailbox instead.

And honestly?

Maybe that’s exactly where they belong.

So, if you’d like, pull up a chair. Pour yourself a cup of coffee. Open the next envelope and come along with me.

I don’t know exactly where this road is taking me.

But I have a feeling it’s going to be one heck of an adventure.

~Cass