We’d been to Arizona before — Logan was 5, Q was 2. Our first official spring break now that Logan was in school. It was an amazing trip, lots of driving, but when you’re on the road … you gotta take it easy.

And really, that’s what life should be about.

Fast forward five years later, and Logan made the Iowa ODP soccer team. We flew Delta to Phoenix — I had a free companion ticket from my Amex. He enjoyed the lounge and ordered endless Shirley Temples, because … why not?

Fast forward again, this time to February 2026. Q’s turn to fly to Arizona for his sport — gymnastics. We stayed in the exact same hotel Logan and I had stayed in two years before. Full circle.

We were originally going to drive. My parents wanted to come — to support Q, but also because they’d never been to Arizona. It was my dad’s dream to visit Winslow. As a lifelong Eagles fan, he had to. I’m an Eagles fan too — always have been — but let’s be honest, I will never be at my dad’s level.

It was my dad’s bucket list. How could we not make it happen.

I’m not sure we would have if we followed our original plan to drive. Chinese New Year, a full family gathering, a 21+ hour drive that nobody had the margin for, except for my parents who are both retired. The Sunday before we left, I made an executive decision and booked Frontier tickets out of Kansas City. A little over $200 a person. Honestly, worth it.

It meant my parents got a few extra hours with family instead of rushing everyone out the door — it was a hard cutoff before! Less stress. More time for the things that actually matter.

We left in the afternoon the next day and … took it easy.

After arriving in Phoenix, my dad and the boys headed straight for the hot tub. Matt and I looked at each other.

“We have to do it.”

Winslow. Three hours. We could do it.

Sometimes it’s not just about what we want — it’s about what the people around us need. My dad had carried this dream for years. We shared the plan that evening.

The next morning, we jumped in the car and drove. And on that drive, I watched something I didn’t expect: my boys in the back seat, teaching my parents everything they know about football cards (honestly, it’s ridiculous). My parents are listening … the beautiful landscape, the hum of the highway. Take it to the limit, one more time.

Winslow, Arizona is a small town with a big corner. The red flatbed Ford. The statue of Glenn Frey. The lyrics painted right there on the wall like you’re living inside the song.

The boys laid flat on the road to get the Route 66 photo. My dad stood on that corner with the biggest smile I’ve seen on him in years.

It was the same look Logan had the first time we took him to Disney. Pure joy. The kind you can’t manufacture.

Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy. We almost let the busyness of life talk us out of this. I’m so glad we didn’t.

Rewinding back to our first night in Phoenix, my mom’s phone rang. It was her baby sister — my Aunt Lori (Na Loi, is what we called her). She just wanted to talk. She knew we’d be gone. She wished Q luck on Wednesday at the Chinese New Year’s Dinner, and asked about our flight. It was kind of a blur — but she was happy — loud as ever. But, she called my mom that night the way she always did — out of habit — everything was perfectly normal.

The rest of Arizona was filled with memories. We hiked. We had amazing food. Q competed in his first meet outside the Midwest and came home with four medals.

We came home full, tired and thankful.

Two days after we got home, the unexpected happened.

My phone rang numerous times that morning. This only happens if someone dies. The last time it happened was when my grandpa passed away. My Aunt Lori — Na Loi — passed away suddenly. The loudest person in every room. The one who told Q she’d be at his next meet. Their loud grandma, as the boys called her. Gone.

Every form of refuge has its price.

We lost a presence in our family that cannot be replaced.

I’m still trying to process it.

But here’s what I keep coming back to: those plane tickets. That decision, made on a Sunday afternoon, meant my mom didn’t have to say goodbye to a houseful of family early. A few more hours together that nobody knew would matter so much. My aunt was always the last to leave a gathering.

That three-hour drive to Winslow meant my boys got to see their grandpa standing on a corner he’d dreamed about for decades. It always comes down to time.

Life in the fast lane — surely make you lose your mind. We’d been living that way. This trip cracked something open.

So here’s the reminder —

Take it easy. But don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy while you’re at it. Get in the car. Book the flight. Show up for the people you love while you still can.

Live loudly. Love fiercely. Notice the little moments — the boys laying in the middle of Route 66, your dad grinning like a kid, your mom’s sister calling just to hear her voice.

Peaceful easy feeling — you have to choose it. You have to slow down enough to feel it.

Hold your people a little tighter. The rooms get quiet far too fast.