Before having kids I was that person who wondered why parents take their babies to Disneyland or on extended road trips or trips around the world. Isn't it pointless? They won't remember any family adventures before at least the age of 2. I won't even mention what I thought of fussy babies on the plane. I was either too young or too broke to order wine from the drink cart, or I longingly envisioned my unused earplugs tucked away in the medicine cabinet at home.

Then we had our son, and before his first birthday we’ve taken several trips within the U.S., mostly to see family and friends. Each trip we took, each nap and bedtime we compromised to squeeze in one last adventure, and each stranger who smiled at his overtired moments–all was worth it.

My perspective changed a little more with each trip, as I caught him taking it all in: toes in the sand at Honeymoon Island State Park, sea-soaked eyelashes at the Ballard Locks, and that smile every time the wind took his breath away. He ran his little hands over the bark on a redwood tree, tasted kimchi and frozen yogurt, sucked ocean water off his hands, got his first bug bite in a hammock in the forest, and gazed at all kinds of new flowers.

I just realized we called his attention away from those flowers so he could look into the iPhone lens for a picture. Maybe we have something to learn from this kid.

Though he won’t recall these moments individually, I’m convinced that they mean something to him. Even if they just communicate love, security, adventure, family…now and in the future…each new thing left an imprint and laid in him a template that the rest of life will be filtered through.

Or something like that. Plus, kids under 2 fly free. That’s enough of a reason to make it work. In the tender words of Shia LaBeouf (who said it better than Nike): “Just do it.”

Nights like these I always say I’ll write about, but I never do it right then and there—and so I never do it. And then I regret not doing it and beat myself up and then I’m even less motivated to do it.

Solution. Just do it. The dishes and to-do list and cat food and such can wait. Life should be documented now.

When you remember that, yes, life is the in between moments–but it’s also in moments like these, when you’re sitting among friends and realizing you’re exposed but safe, insane and not sorry, accepted, loved. When you can feel safe to say you think coffee dates are awkward and you just want to be more intentional but the intentional part never comes or kicks in. Then most everyone feels the same so you decide to finally be accountable and it’s uncomfortable but a relief.

It’s not the nights alone resting or reading that fuel me most, though those are still needed. It’s the nights I’m tempted to skip that I need, the nights when staying at home by myself sounds so much better. It’s nights that drag me out that drag the best and worst from me, when I go and am uncomfortable in my shirt and my socks have holes and my hair isn’t just right. These are the nights that change me. These are the nights we are real with each other and temporarily forget what makes us different and the chasms we create when we’re alone. Because we’re not. We just need to go. Go out when it’s cold and uncomfortable. Try it on for size.