Falling in Love with Moab

When I was growing up in Moab, Utah, I never understood why people loved it so much.

The soaring red cliffs, the dusty trails winding through the desert, the endless caravan of jeeps and mountain bikes — it all felt so distant from the life I imagined for myself.
While visitors from all over the world would travel to experience the raw beauty of Moab, I longed for something different.
I didn’t see the magic they did. I wasn’t drawn to the thrill of rock climbing or the adrenaline of off-roading.
To me, the desert was just...home. And not always a home I appreciated.

By the time I turned 18, I was more than ready to leave.
I packed my dreams into a suitcase and headed east, chasing something new in North Carolina.
At the time, it felt like freedom — like I was finally stepping into the life I wanted.
But it didn’t take long — just six short months — for a deep homesickness to settle into my bones.
A homesickness not just for my family or my familiar streets, but for the red rock I once overlooked, the endless blue skies I once ignored, and the sense of belonging I never realized I had.

When I returned to Moab, it was as if I was seeing it for the very first time.

The sandstone formations, shaped by wind and time, told stories that I had never heard before.
The light, ever-changing and golden, touched the desert in ways I hadn't noticed growing up.
There was a quietness here, a peace, a wild, unapologetic beauty that stunned me every single day.

Now, every morning I wake up grateful — grateful for the life I live tucked among these incredible landscapes.
I share my days with a partner who loves me deeply, two dogs whose happiness reminds me to savor the simple moments, and a heart that finally understands what a gift it is to call this place home.

Moab isn’t just where I live.
It’s part of who I am.