In my moment, time does not exist. Only a collection of emotions, visual stimuli, temperature, humidity, and a barrage of unregulated vital signs present themselves to remind me of where I am, and that I am exactly where I need to be. No more and no less, as time stands still if only for a moment — however long that may be. My moments are both my home and my adventure all at once. Whether it be the quiet that overcomes me as I stand, witnessing the gentle snowfall across an ice-torn terrain, or the adrenaline that pumps through my chest as I hover over turquoise waves softly tapping at the edge of ancient hardened volcanic lava — I am home, and this is my moment. This is our moment, because my homes and adventures are fluid. They exist when and where we experience them, together -- my best friend and I (sometimes I call him my husband). When the winds howl and push us along an empty, unforgiving tundra, and when the trickling creek beckons us to go just a little bit further into the fern-lined valley, we are home. These are the moments. These are our moments.