I had just finished a 3.3-mile jog along the backroads of Clinton County. The afternoon sun was quickly falling behind the snowy peaks of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance. The slow shadow of winter night soon enveloping the Champlain Valley, my parents’ Upstate New York farmhouse smack dab in the middle of it. And it was at this moment my mother asked me a question. 

Hello from Room 322 at the Fairfield Inn, located in Binghamton, New York. Exactly one year ago, I stayed in this same room. No joke, this is where I was placed. And, oh, how much has changed and, well, come to pass in this last calendar year since I laid down in this bed, since I opened up the drapes and looked out the same window onto the interstate traffic below. 

It’s Thursday. Early afternoon. In the original plan for this week, I would, in my mind’s eye, be cruising along right now somewhere in southcentral Upstate New York, probably just east of Binghamton on Interstate 88, onward to I-87 North to my parents’ farmhouse on the outskirts of Plattsburgh. 

Nearing the midnight hour, I found myself sipping on a cold Coors Light can in the depths of the Tradewinds Lounge in downtown St. Augustine, Florida. This was last Tuesday, but the classic rock tribute onstage that evening was rockin’ out as if it was Saturday night. 

I turned 40 years old today.

This morning, I awoke in the guest bedroom of my parents’ farmhouse in my native North Country of Upstate New York. It was 12 degrees outside with a frigid breeze, the sun shining brightly. I rolled over and looked out the second-story window onto a backyard blanketed in snow, each flake sparkling. 

Dec. 31, 2024, marked the ninth anniversary of my “running streak.” Since Dec. 31, 2015, I’ve run every single day. The standard is to complete at least a mile to qualify as a run, with most of my jogs hovering around three miles. 

Christmas Eve. With the sun fading behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, the sky transitioning into bright pink, purple and orange, I found myself quietly jogging the four-mile path around Lake Junaluska. Nobody around me, the air quickly gets cold during sunset. Dozens of Canada geese roaming the walking trails and shoreline, with many more either swimming or in-flight nearby. 

Hello from Room 510 at the Delta Hotel. The nonstop hustle and bustle of Interstate 81 just outside the window in Bristol, Virginia. For the last few days, I’ve been up here covering the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion, one of the largest and most beloved festivals within Americana, bluegrass and country music circles. 

Stepping out of my apartment building in downtown Waynesville on Wednesday morning, I noticed several American flags lining Walnut Street, put there by the town’s public works department. Cruising along Main Street, the flag was at half-mast at the bank and also in front of the Haywood County Courthouse. 

Hello from Cabin 156 at Tryon International, the massive equestrian center and event facility along U.S. 74, just down the mountain from Saluda. The mountains in the distance remind me of the beauty of my home that is Western North Carolina.