The Best Part of the View
Life has a way of getting loud.
Not all at once.
And it didn’t take months.
In fact, it didn’t take much at all.
A phone.
A busy schedule.
A few distractions.
The pull of everyday responsibilities.
Before I realized it, the noise had begun to crowd out the quiet moments that remind us why we chose each other in the first place.
We were still making memories. Just weeks earlier, we had driven back roads together, windows down, soaking in a rainy Southern afternoon. Not long after that, we had laughed our way through a concert.
But somewhere between work, responsibilities, and everything waiting for tomorrow, I realized something.
I missed us.
You don’t have to be in trouble to need each other.
So we packed an overnight bag and pointed the truck toward Helen, Georgia.
We weren’t looking for an extravagant vacation.
We were simply making room for each other again.
We didn’t set an alarm.
We didn’t have a schedule to keep.
There was no need to rush out the door or worry about what time we arrived.
Just an overnight bag in the back seat and two people ready to get away.
Somewhere along the drive, Steve reached over and took my hand.
Such a simple gesture.
One he has made countless times before.
But that morning, I noticed it.
Maybe because there was nowhere else either of us needed to be.
Maybe because my mind had finally grown quiet enough to be fully present in the moment.
Whatever the reason…
I didn’t let go.
By the time we reached Helen, the morning already felt lighter.
Steve and I are playfully competitive, and putt-putt has a way of turning us into two kids keeping score.
On one hole, the green was shaped like a heart. A sign promised a free game for a hole-in-one.
And somehow, I made it.
One shot.
Straight into the heart.
The free game was just a bonus.
The bragging rights were even better.
The day held plenty of small moments I loved.
It wasn’t what we did that made the day unforgettable.
It was simply the fact that we were together.
Pink Pig BBQ.
An antique store where I wandered without looking for anything in particular.
Little conversations.
Lots of laughter.
No schedule.
No rush.
Just two people enjoying the time they had made for each other.
But when I think back on that trip, one moment rises above the rest.
Earlier that morning, after putt-putt, we had made our way to Brasstown Bald.
We walked to the overlook together and stood quietly, taking in the miles of mountain ridges stretching out before us.
It was breathtaking.
But it wasn’t the view that captured my attention.
As Steve stood quietly taking in the view from Brasstown Bald, I wasn’t looking at the mountains.
I was looking at him.
Somewhere between the fresh mountain air, the quiet, and simply slowing down, the noise of everyday life seemed very far away.
And there he was.
The person I had chosen.
The person I still choose.
Standing there beside him, I realized something I never wanted to forget.
The best part of the view wasn’t the mountains.
It was the man standing beside me.
The next day, we made one more stop before heading home.
Tucked away in Helen was a sculpture covered with hundreds of colorful love locks, each one left behind by someone wanting to mark a promise, a memory, or a chapter in their story.
We bought our lock.
A simple blue heart.
On one side, we wrote our names and our wedding date.
Steve & Holly.
10.7.23.
On the other, we wrote 2026—the year we left our little piece of us there.
Then we added it beside all the others.
To anyone else…
it was just another lock.
To me, it meant something more.
It was a quiet reminder that relationships don’t stay strong by accident.
They stay strong because, over and over again, we choose each other.
Even on the ordinary days.
Especially on the ordinary days.
We left Helen with photographs I’ll treasure, a blue lock hanging quietly among hundreds of others, and memories I’ll smile about for years to come.
Most of all…
I hope I never forget how that day felt.
Life will get loud again.
Work will still demand our attention.
The laundry will pile up.
The calendar will fill.
There will always be another responsibility waiting for us.
But this trip reminded me that the people we love most should never become part of the background noise.
Sometimes all it takes is one day.
One drive.
One mountain view.
One heart-shaped putt-putt hole.
One blue love lock.
Just enough time to remember what matters most.
Because in the end…
I don’t just choose the adventure.
I don’t just choose the destination.
I choose my husband.
And…
That became the best part of the view.
