Fitted with matching backpacks and brimming with excitement, my husband and I stepped onto the moving walkway at San Francisco International Airport. He turned to look back at me, grinning beneath the brim of his straw fedora, and I snapped what would become one of my favorite photos of all time. In 2013, that smile was an invitation to adventure. And while the flight to Dublin should have taken nine hours with a strong tailwind, after one flight delay and a reroute, it was a full twenty hours later that we arrived in Ireland. Undaunted, Danny buckled himself in on the “wrong” side of the car and I held my breath as he throttled through roundabouts on the “wrong” side of the road. From the corner of my eye, I could see his lips curve upward as we careened out of the city.

Out the window, the late evening sun threw golden light over impossibly green hills. We drove west, chasing those rays, and found our little stone bed and breakfast at twilight. “There’s live music down at the pub till eleven,” our host told us as she let us into our room. “Just a ten-minute walk into the village.”

I thanked her and flopped onto the bed. “This has been the longest day of my life,” I said, turning to find Dan pulling a fresh shirt out of his backpack. When he met my gaze, a light was still flickering in his eyes, that smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” I said. “Oh, no. Babe! We’ve been up for ages. There’s no way.”

“Yes,” he said, pulling me off the bed. “Oh, yes.” And so, at quarter to ten in the evening on the very last day of June, we crossed a cobblestone bridge and followed the narrow road into Doolin, where we caught the last set of an Irish trio over pints of beer and cider.

The following morning, waiting for Adventure Boy to wake up and take me sightseeing, I sat at the window watching a herd of sheep graze in the meadow across the road. Normally a bit of a homebody in our day-to-day life, Danny seemed to be channeling his inner explorer. Later as we drove to the Cliffs of Moher, I looked out on the endless rolling green and felt that if I just sat down I might grow roots there. The fog stretching across The Burren, the moss-covered stones lining the falls at Killarney, and the pastel boats lined up in Dingle Bay seemed to work some magic on me, transfiguring my Type-A, sensation-seeking ways into a longing for quiet contemplation. There was something transformative about the Emerald Isle, something we hadn’t accounted for. To see all we wanted, it might take weeks. It might take a whole lifetime.

***

Ten years and three kids later, we play “adventure” in another key these days. We feel brave planning a trip to Walt Disney World, even with Grandma along to help. We often find ourselves done in by a regular Tuesday, and there hasn’t been a single time since Ireland that Danny has talked me into going out past dark for a spontaneous pint at a pub. Lately, he’s sipping a nightcap in the basement and watching the latest Marvel spin-off while I’m upstairs in my second REM cycle by 11 p.m.

So much has changed.

But when an invitation came to celebrate a family wedding on the west coast of Ireland, once again, it was Danny telling me to seize the moment.

“Ireland is your favorite place in the entire world,” he said. “Let’s figure out a way for you to go.”

We called in his sister to help with the kids, and as June faded into July, I was on a plane heading east over the Atlantic, tailwind in my favor, with my husband and two older children staying behind and my youngest nursing through take-off and landing like a champ.

After a few hours touring Dublin, we boarded a west-bound train to Sligo. Sam nestled into the baby carrier and I leaned my head against the glass, watching the countryside roll out its verdant carpet of hills. I gave a nod to a stranger to take the open seat beside me, and, overwhelmed by the beauty of a storm cloud blooming in the distance, found myself gushing about how much I loved his country. After nearly an hour of Irish gab, he asked me how long I’d been living in Ireland.

I laughed. “No, I’m just visiting.”

“I thought you might be an expat, since you mentioned a family wedding. And you just seem so … ” he searched for the right word, “settled.”

And I was. In the following days, I felt settled. Settled as the fog lowered over flat-topped Benbulben, settled watching cloud shadows race across miles of patchwork countryside. Settled walking narrow lanes late in the golden evening, and settled feeling morning rain in my hair. I missed my favorite adventure partner, but soaked up every emerald moment with his brown-eyed, curly-haired son. On the very last evening, still dressed in my wedding finest, I propped Sam on my hip and walked out to the fenceline behind our lodging for one last view of my favorite place in the world.

Sam pointed to the sheep grazing a few yards away, their black heads lowered to the grass, blond wool picking up the last rays of sun. His tiny hand opened and he leaned forward, as though he could reach out and touch them. His pacifier covered his mouth, brows furrowing as I held him back.

“No, darling. We can’t pet the sheep.”

He turned back and rested his cheek on my shoulder, a smile alight in his eyes that I recognized in an instant. It was the one that said Yes and Why not? and I dare you all at the same time. And so, at quarter to ten on the seventh of July, I held him close and swung one leg, then another over the wooden fence, my best heels sinking a bit into the loam. We laughed as the sheep scattered before us, wandering farther into the endless sun. Delighted with the weight of him nestled against me, I watched the sky turn silver and violet around us.

In the quiet of the moment, I thought of all that had changed and all that remained the same in these last ten years. Maybe I imagined growing a family would feel like a nine-hour flight with a strong tailwind—a big commitment, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Maybe I’m still the one flopping onto the bed at the end of each day like a road-weary traveler. Maybe I missed some sights along the way, or have struggled to slow down and take in the simple joys of our everyday landscape. In truth, it will take me a lifetime to savor the beauty of the days we spend together. Bit by bit, I find myself settling into the rhythm of being stretched past my limits by those that I love, and sometimes it’s just beyond those limits I find the greatest adventures.

Words and photo by Adrienne Garrison. Adrienne lives in Bloomington, Indiana with her husband and their two little ones. Her essays have appeared in Coffee + Crumbs and New Millennium Writings, and her short story “No Longer Mine” was recently featured in LETTERS Journal. Adrienne believes magic takes the form of heart-to-heart conversations, petit-fours, and walks in the woods. You can find more of her writing on her website and Substack.

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