It used to be that when I thought of adventure, I pictured hurtling down a rocky trail, dirt flying behind me. The sound of tires on gravel, the rush of wind in my face – everything a blur as I raced down mountainsides. But standing beneath the moss-laden trees of Vancouver, breathing in the thick, damp air, I felt something different – slower, quieter, but no less profound.
It’s hard to believe how much time has passed since I first discovered YouTube as a teenager. I’d spend hours watching downhill mountain biking videos, imagining myself riding those gnarly trails in British Columbia. Even then, I knew BC was on my bucket list. But the details of my recent trip were nothing like I’d envisioned back then. For one, it was winter, so mountain biking was out of the question. And even if it had been summer, I doubt I would’ve found time to ride. This was a work trip, after all, and there wasn’t much space for adventure with my full workdays and short daylight hours.
But there are many types of adventures, aren’t there? As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that adventure can also be slow and deliberate – like wandering through an unfamiliar city, listening to its rhythm, or standing still in the woods, letting the quiet sink in. So, after work wrapped up, I gave myself an extra day to roam.
I was staying in downtown Vancouver, so I was restricted to what was close by. But “close by” means something entirely different in BC, a city where the Pacific Ocean meets towering mountains. You might spot orcas in the bay or catch a glimpse of a variety of wildlife in the nearby forests. The weather was damp but milder than Ontario’s, and as a photographer, I felt like I’d stepped into a living canvas. (In case it wasn’t clear, I loved BC)
As I wandered through the lush forests, the trees – ancient and thick with moss – seemed to breathe alongside me. The air was crisp, damp, and impossibly fresh, and each deep breath seemed to clear space I didn’t know was cluttered. I walked slowly. I photographed everything that caught my eye. I took deep breaths.
Lately, after what felt like way too long, colour has been returning to my world – hesitant, but undeniable. I don’t fully understand why the darkness came over me in the first place, or why it lifted, but as I allowed myself to be still, I couldn’t help but feel grateful.
Whether crossing a suspension bridge (they have so many), standing beneath the towering trees or o top of a snow covered mountain, I felt a profound sense of calm. One afternoon, I looked up as the sun was dipping behind the mountains and casting a golden glow on the tips of the pines. I felt small, in the best way possible.
It’s easy to get caught up in the noise of everyday life, and I feel like that has been happening to me more than I’d like to admit lately. But I’m learning that stepping outside is often the best thing I can do for myself. And the best part? It’s free. A bike ride, a hike, or even just sitting on a bench and watching the world move – each moment is a reminder of how temporary life is. What a beautiful, fleeting existence.
Right now, I’m in a period of stillness. I crave slow. Tender. Gentle. And I’m grateful that I’ve learned to listen to myself enough to know what I need. Now, the real challenge is in making it happen.
Maybe it starts with a walk.
Thanks so much for sticking with me this far! I had an amazing time putting this together, and I’m really proud of how some of these photos turned out. I might even print a few! I also shot a lot of footage during my trip, so I’m planning to create a video. It’ll be up on my YouTube channel, so if you’re not subscribed yet, be sure to head over there and hit that subscribe button so you don’t miss it when it drops.
I’ll catch you later, friend.
Damion