The Long Silence—and the Next Chapter

If you’re a regular reader of Rivers of Thought, you’ve probably noticed I’ve been unusually quiet over the past year. No new reflections, no trail updates, no musings on leadership or love or life. Just… silence.

Not because I ran out of things to say.

But because life, as it often does, had other plans.

The past year has been a season of deep change—personally, spiritually, and emotionally. I won’t go into all of it here (not yet, anyway), but I will say this: there have been moments that brought me to my knees, and moments that reminded me—gently, fiercely—why I write in the first place.

So here I am, surfacing from the quiet to share something that’s been two decades in the making.

I’ve finished the manuscript for my next book.

It’s called:

Uncharted Moments – Along the Lewis & Clark Trail – A Love Story

It’s not a history book, though history plays a starring role.
It’s not a love story, though love is its heartbeat.
It’s not a memoir, though my fingerprints are on every page.

It’s a journey—along rivers, through loss, into wonder.

Twenty years ago, I found myself drawn to the story of Lewis and Clark. What began as historical curiosity quickly became something more personal. Carmen and I started tracing the trail together—not just on maps, but in life. We followed in the footsteps of the Corps of Discovery, yes—but we also discovered each other, one sacred, uncharted moment at a time.

This book tells that story.
Of the rivers we crossed. The history we absorbed.
The laughs. The tears. The whispered conversations in campgrounds and museum halls.
The epiphanies that hit you like a thunderclap… and the ones that sneak in like mist over water.

Uncharted Moments is about finding your path—not by following someone else’s map, but by walking it together.

In the weeks to come, I’ll be sharing more: a glimpse at the cover, some behind-the-scenes stories, a few treasures that didn’t make it into the manuscript, and ways you can be part of this next adventure.

For now, thank you for being here—for sticking around through the silence.
I can’t wait to bring you along on this new leg of the journey.

Still paddling,
Jeff

Here is a little teaser:

Excerpt from Uncharted Moments: Along the Lewis & Clark Trail — A Love Story

We arrived in Philadelphia with one goal in mind: to see the journals.

Not just any journals—the journals. The ones penned by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark themselves. The ones that had guided us, inspired us, haunted us over thousands of miles and twenty years of travel. I had traced their words across maps, through dusty archives and riverside trails, always chasing the next uncharted moment.

The American Philosophical Society Museum was closed. Not for the day. For three weeks.

A sign on the heavy door made it plain. Closed for renovation or installation—something vague but definitive. The kind of sign that doesn’t budge, no matter how far you’ve come or how much your heart is invested.

But Carmen wasn’t one to give up easily. She pressed the doorbell.

A moment later, a woman emerged—clearly on her way to lunch, keys in hand, purse on her shoulder. Her pace slowed when she saw us, but her body language said, “I’m already gone.” Still, she paused.

We told her our story. About how this journey began with a book of journal excerpts and a spark of curiosity that became a shared obsession. About the RV, the trails, the graves, the monuments, the river crossings, the heartbreak, the healing. All of it. Condensed into a few breathless sentences.

She asked, “Are you researchers? Academics?”

“No,” I said. “Just… believers.”

She tilted her head, considering. Then she gave us directions to the library—across the street—Carmen convinced her to take us.

After being asked again if we were academics, we were introduced to Nan.

Nan greeted us warmly, no sign of skepticism or hurry in her demeanor. She gave us a tour of the public spaces, weaving in bits of the Society’s history, its legacy of Enlightenment ideals, and early American curiosity. I tried to absorb it, but my eyes kept drifting toward the closed doors, the private corridors.

Eventually, Nan turned to us and said, “I hear you’re interested in Lewis and Clark, right?”

We both nodded.

Without another word, she led us through a quiet hallway, past a door with a keycard lock, and into a climate-controlled back room.

There was a table. A few chairs. Silence.

Nan directed us to sit down at the table and disappeared into the vault.

Carmen and I sat down, our hands resting flat on the wood. We didn’t speak. We looked at each other with ‘what’s going on’ faces.

And then—