Bridge Season: The Decision to Go

Autumn has settled over the mountain valley. The mornings are crisp, the cottonwoods are shining gold along the Truckee, and the air carries that particular stillness that arrives just before winter locks the Sierra passes.

Between rounds of packing and donating, we took a break to visit Dragon Lights Reno at Rancho San Rafael Park. The event transforms the Wilbur D. May Arboretum and Botanical Gardens into a glowing nocturnal landscape. This year's theme, Odyssey of Waves & Woods, unfolds across three distinct zones, each revealing itself slowly as you walk the garden paths.

The Asian Culture Zone anchors the experience around the iconic Chinese dragon: scales of red and gold rising over the surrounding trees. Lanterns depict lotus blossoms, pagodas, and cranes, each form representing traditional symbols of longevity, harmony, and fortune.

The Odyssey of Waves Zone submerges you in an illuminated ocean where whale skeletons drift overhead, coral glows in purples and blues, and jellyfish bob gently in the November breeze.

The Odyssey of Woods Zone transforms familiar pines and oaks into something mythical: glowing mushrooms the size of small cars, foxes with lantern tails, and trees wrapped in light that pulses like breath.

The garden paths glowed in every direction. People moved slowly through the colors, mesmerized by dragons and sea creatures, and there was a quiet joy in simply watching wonder unfold.

For us, it felt like part of the ritual of winding down: visiting familiar places one last time, collecting final experiences, and recognizing the quiet beauty in endings.

The Decision to Go

The decision to go began in gratitude. We already had a full life: good work, a close family, a community and home we loved. But over time we felt a quiet pull toward something slower and more intentional. Not to chase what was missing, but to give more attention to what has always been present: the beauty of the world, the gift of time, and the simple joy of sharing life wherever we are.

We didn't choose this path to escape; we chose it to engage more deeply. To see creation with fresh eyes. To notice how people live well in places far from our own, and to explore both our similarities and our differences.

Slow travel, for us, is a practice in presence. It means staying long enough in each place to recognize its rhythm: to know which coffee shop is our favorite, which bakery is best, when the light hits the surrounding buildings just right, and how neighbors greet one another. These are small details, but they hold meaning. They remind us that life, wherever it's lived, is special in its ordinary moments.

When we say “living local in a global world,” we mean approaching each day with intention and care. It’s about staying long enough to understand a place, walking into new communities not as consumers but as guests, and meeting the world with respect, curiosity, and humility. To live local is to listen first, to notice the ordinary beauty in daily life, and to leave with gratitude for what was shared rather than what was merely seen.

Each transition brings its own mix of letting go and receiving. We'll miss our community, our local routines, and the landscapes that shaped our days, but the trade is not loss; it's expansion. Every new horizon widens our gratitude, reminding us that the world is vast, interconnected, and filled with quiet grace.

We go forward with peace, not restlessness. With open hands, not ambition. And with the hope that by sharing these stories, others might be reminded to slow down, to look closely, and to find joy, whether in the familiar places they already stand or the new ones waiting to be discovered.

Bibimbap at bab café (downtown Reno): We ordered the classic bowl: gochujang sauce pooled at the center, vegetables arranged in neat sections around the rim, with dak-galbi (Korean-style teriyaki chicken) on top. It came artfully presented. The heat, the texture contrast, the balance of spice and sesame. It was the kind of meal that makes you want to eat quickly while simultaneously savoring every bite.

Homemade pizza on the grill: As the evenings turned cooler, we grilled pizza on the back patio. Simple dough stretched thin, topped with Italian sausage, onion, mozzarella, and fresh basil. The charred crust, the smoke, the ritual of standing outside in light jackets while the pizza cooked. Another memory added to a warm collection of grilling experiences.

Homemade Thai Coconut Quinoa Bowl: This one is our favorite Thai comfort food bowl, full of rich flavors: coconut milk, maple syrup, roasted sweet potatoes, purple cabbage slaw with vinegar and lime, and of course, a delicious peanut sauce.

The Practical Work of Leaving

The practical side of leaving has dominated our weeks. Each drawer and shelf presents a question: keep, donate, or store? The process is both logistical and emotional. A slow inventory of what still fits the life ahead.

What we're storing in Texas:

What we're donating or selling:

What we're bringing abroad:

Practical advice if you're planning a similar move:

Do a trial pack. A "mock move." Seriously. Pretend you're leaving next week. Pack everything you think you'll need into your luggage, then live out of it for three days. You'll discover quickly what you actually use, what you've packed out of anxiety, and what you've forgotten entirely. This exercise helped us further refine and optimize our selections. In our case, we learned we couldn't bring as much as we'd like. Do you really need six pairs of shoes? Depends.

Cost snapshot:

The emotional weight is harder to quantify. Each item donated or sold feels like letting go of a possible future. Yet most things can be replaced, and with every choice, the path ahead becomes a little clearer.

Dragon Lights Reno

Each autumn, the arboretum glows with light and color as the Dragon Lights Festival returns to Reno. We wandered through its lantern pathways, where whales drifted above sea grass, flowers opened in the dark, and mythical creatures surrounded us. What follows is a quiet look at the beauty of light and imagination meeting in the night.

See More visual stories in our Instagram highlights »

Climate as a Compass: Following Spring Around the World

Next week, we’ll share how we designed our 26-month route to chase sunlight and minimize peak tourist seasons. We’ll explore the rhythm behind our itinerary: how climate, daylight, and seasonality shape well-being, productivity, and the quality of daily life for long-term travelers.  

This week, we'll make one last trip to the Reno Public Market for the food hall and live music, then prepare to drive southwest for Stephanie's special milestone birthday road trip through California's Central Coast: Big Sur, Paso Robles, San Luis Obispo, and the picturesque stretches of Highway 1 before the holidays arrive.

Standing beneath those illuminated artistic wonders this week, watching people move through pools of colored light, we felt the calm that comes before transformation. Not anxiety, but awareness; the recognition that we're crossing a threshold.

The packing continues. The donation pile grows. Each small choice (what to sell, what to store, what to carry) creates space for something new.

We remain grateful for what Reno has been: the trails that cleared our minds, the community that shaped our days, the landscapes that taught us to notice. And we're ready for what comes next, not because we're leaving something behind, but because we're walking toward something that's been calling us forward.

Thank you for reading, and for walking this bridge season with us.

—Sam & Stephanie

Some Great Place
Living local in a global world