These are the reasons.

My wife works the night shift in the labor and delivery unit at our hospital. When her shift ends at seven a.m., she and three of her coworkers go to the same diner for breakfast.

Every Sunday morning, a group of retirees gathers at the diner on Main Street to do the Sunday crossword together. They take up the big round table by the window. There are usually eight or nine of them.

My roommate and I locked ourselves out of our apartment at eleven p.m. on a Friday in February. Phones inside. Keys inside. Both of us in socks, having stepped into the hallway to check a strange noise that turned out to be the building's radiator.

My cousin's outdoor wedding in Colorado was planned for May. On the morning of the wedding, it snowed. Six inches.

My car broke down on a road trip through Louisiana, and I spent an afternoon at a tiny repair shop outside Lafayette, waiting for a part.

Jesus & Iliana have been busy creating Living Is So Big mini baskets to give away at their next road trip to Waco, TX.

They have had many of the Living Is So Big items just sitting in storage. It is time to get them out into this world.

Hello everyone.  This is Jesus & Iliana Agudo.  We are founders of Living Is So Big.  I would like to say thank you to all that have stayed in touch with us and Christopher since the inception of Living Is So Big on April 14th 2010.

We have new and exciting ideas to continue our journey of spreading Life Appreciation to all. Stay tuned and follow us on this upcoming journey. It's going to be lots of fun.

On a trip to Iceland in February, my partner and I hiked forty-five minutes through a snowy valley to a natural hot spring in a river. The guidebook said it was "worth it." The guidebook was an understatement.

When I moved to Tokyo for work, I didn't speak Japanese and didn't know anyone. On my first night, I wandered into a tiny ramen shop near my apartment with eight seats at a counter and a cook who looked about seventy.

My kids, nine and eleven, play violin and cello. They're not great yet. But they love to practice on our front porch on summer evenings.

I planted way too many sunflower seeds this spring. I thought maybe half would come up. Every single one did.

My aunt Teresa has collected snow globes since 1979. There are two hundred and eleven of them on a long shelf in her dining room, each one from somewhere she's been or someone who thought of her.

In the corner of my grandfather's woodworking shop, there's a radio that's been tuned to the same classic country station since 1974. It's covered in sawdust. Its antenna is held on with tape.

Every Saturday morning at our farmers market, a girl of about twelve plays the fiddle by the entrance. Her case is open for tips. She plays old Appalachian tunes, Irish jigs and once, memorably, a bluegrass version of a Beyoncé song.

My grandmother is eighty-seven and walks two miles every morning. This summer, when I was home from college, she asked me to come along.

This letter is for Walter Abernathy, of Abernathy Hardware.

After a big snowstorm in January, my two kids built a fort in the front yard and stockpiled about a hundred snowballs. When the mail carrier came up our walk, they ambushed him.

After a wildfire threatened our town in August, the firefighters worked for six days straight. My eight-year-old daughter asked what she could do to help.

My fourth-grade class started a pen pal program with a school in a village near Nakuru, Kenya. Every student got a buddy, and we sent letters back and forth all year.

My son is eight and has decided he's old enough to walk to school by himself. It's four blocks. I've agreed, on the condition that I follow about half a block behind "like a spy."