When I was younger, my dad would take my brother and me camping. We’d stay in tents, bring freeze-dried food (you know, like the food astronauts would eat), build a campfires, cook s’mores, and spend quality time together. Once we discovered that camping wasn’t my brother’s thing, it became a father/daughter tradition.

Each year, we’d camp somewhere different in Colorado — Rocky Mountain Park mostly. Lake McConoughey was the one year that was too hot for a campfire. We were eaten alive by mosquitos and fell off our jet skis.

Once I was “too old” for camping with my dad, we turned our annual trip into a few days of fishing. Even since I moved to San Francisco, we’ve kept the tradition alive.

A few weeks ago, I flew to Colorado for our annual fishing trip. Dad has the right idea — sweeping me away to a place where there’s minimal cell phone reception and no WiFi or Television. As expected, we had a wonderful time catching fish, cooking breakfast, eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk ice cream, pretending it was my Birthday at a restaurant to get a free cannoli, you know, the usual.

We sat outside one night (in the freezing cold) and talked about life and choices and the future. And it made me think about how I really love this tradition. I love looking forward to our father/daughter fishing trip each year.

I love traditions. 

I’d go shopping with my mom every Black Friday. My grandmother still hosts a back-to-school dinner with the entire family in August. In college, my roommate and I would celebrate every single birthday at Red Robin so we’d get a free sundae and the big red bird would come sing to us. Every Christmas or New Years is spent in Arizona with my grandparents.

Now that I live in San Francisco, I find myself creating my own new traditions and working extremely hard to keep the traditions from Colorado alive. Every January, my dad flies out to celebrate my Birthday. Each November, I make sure to visit Union Square and watch them light the giant Christmas Tree. Each Fourth of July is spent with my Casi and her Greg down by Ghirardelli Square. Slowly but surely, the longer I’m here, my list of traditions is growing.

But it’s not the same. 

I can’t believe that it’s almost the holiday season — my favorite season for traditions. I’m planning on flying to Colorado for Thanksgiving and hoping le boyfriend is going to join me. I’ll still go to Arizona for Christmas/Hannukah. But it just doesn’t feel the same. My family is missing, my best friend is missing, and traditions aren’t the same when the people that were part of them aren’t anymore.

Now, this season is filled with hope, nostalgia and appreciation. Hope that more traditions will evolve over time, nostalgia for the traditions that once were, and appreciation for the traditions that have stayed alive throughout change.