So here we are again. May rolls around, and I find myself doing that thing where I pause, look back, and wonder how the hell twelve years disappeared so fast.

This year, Geocaching HQ honored their annual Blue Switch Day Weekend digital souvenir from May 1st through the 3rd—celebrating that glorious moment back in May 2000 when President Clinton flipped the metaphorical switch and turned off Selective Availability on GPS satellites. Suddenly, civilian GPS accuracy went from “somewhere in this football field” to “right there, under that rock.” And boom—geocaching was born.

Of course, May 4th also happens to be Star Wars Day, because the universe has a sense of humor. So every year, my social media feeds are a chaotic blend of “May the Fourth Be With You” memes and geocachers posting photos of ammo cans they found in the woods. It’s like watching two fandoms collide in the most beautifully nerdy way possible.

And then there’s May 11th. My geocaching birthday. The day in 2014 when I actually, truly, legitimately found my first geocache with my family. Not the one where someone else spotted it first. The real first one.

I’ve written about that day before. Three times, actually. And honestly? That story’s getting tired. I’m tired of telling it. You’re probably tired of reading it. So this year, I’m doing something different.

This year, I want to talk about why I’m still doing this twelve years later.

The Lenses You Didn’t Know You Needed

Here’s what nobody tells you when you start geocaching: it’s not really about finding hidden containers. I mean, sure, that’s the mechanics of it. That’s the game. But what actually happens—what sneaks up on you over months and years—is that geocaching fundamentally rewires how you see the world.

I’m not being dramatic. I’m being literal.

And here’s the kicker: you’ve probably walked past hundreds—maybe thousands—of geocaches in your life and never knew it. Hidden treasure. Tupperware in the woods. Magnetic key holders stuck under park benches. Fake rocks that aren’t rocks at all. They’ve been there the whole time, invisible to you, waiting.

Before geocaching, a park was just a park. A hiking trail was exercise. A road trip was about getting from Point A to Point B as efficiently as possible, preferably with minimal stops and maximum coffee.

Now? Now I see possibilities everywhere.

That random pulloff on the highway? Probably has a cache. That weird historical marker I’ve driven past a thousand times? Definitely worth investigating. That trail I thought I knew every inch of? There’s a cache 50 feet off the path I’ve never noticed, hidden in a hollowed-out log that’s been there since 2008.

Anytime my eye surveys a landscape—any landscape—I think, “I bet there’s a geocache there.” And you know what? I’m usually right.

Geocaching gave me new lenses. And once you put them on, you can’t take them off.

Suddenly, the world is bigger. More textured. More interesting. There are layers to everything—hidden stories, secret spots, places that matter to someone enough that they tucked a container there and invited strangers to find it.

If you’re curious—if you want to start seeing what’s been hidden in plain sight this whole time—here’s my suggestion: next time you drive somewhere new (a doctor’s appointment, errands, whatever), open the geocaching app once you get there. Chances are, there’s a cache nearby waiting to be found. You’ve probably parked within 100 feet of one and never knew.

I’m 50 years old. I’m Gen X. I’ve seen some shit. I’ve watched the world get smaller and meaner and more digital, where everyone’s staring at screens and nobody’s looking up. And here I am, using technology to get outside, to explore, to move my body through actual physical space.

There’s something beautifully subversive about that.

The “Why” After Twelve Years

So why am I still doing this?

The easy answer is: because it’s fun. And it is. Finding a cleverly hidden cache still gives me that little dopamine hit, that “hell yeah, I found it” moment that never really gets old.

But the real answer is more complicated.

I’m still geocaching because it gives me a reason to go places I’d never otherwise go. To take the long way. To stop and actually look at things. To hike that extra mile because there’s a cache at the top of the ridge. To plan entire vacations around geocaching events and challenge caches and that one series I’ve been wanting to complete for three years.

I’m still geocaching because it’s taught me that adventure doesn’t require a passport or a trust fund. Adventure is available right now, probably within five miles of wherever you’re sitting. You just have to be willing to look for it.

I’m still geocaching because the community is full of weirdos (affectionate) who get excited about the same ridiculous things I do. People who will drive two hours to attend a meet-and-greet in a parking lot. People who spend their weekends maintaining trails and replacing soggy logbooks and building elaborate puzzle caches that make you question your intelligence. People who leave travel bugs and trackables and little notes that say “thanks for finding my cache” like they’re genuinely grateful you showed up.

I’m still geocaching because it’s one of the few hobbies I’ve stuck with for over a decade. And at 50, that means something. It means this isn’t just a phase. It’s part of who I am now.

What Twelve Years Looks Like

I won’t bore you with my stats—okay, maybe just a little. Over these twelve years, I’ve logged nearly 3,100 finds across 9 countries: the United States, Canada, Philippines, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Mexico, Belize, Jamaica, and the Cayman Islands. I’ve hidden 34 caches of my own that have earned 3,863 finds and 38 badge rewards—because this hobby isn’t just about taking, it’s about giving back to the community that’s given me so much. If you’re a stats geek and want the full breakdown, you can plug my username (Falconer_Swarlos) into Project-GC and have a blast.

But more importantly, I’ve hiked trails I didn’t know existed. I’ve explored neighborhoods in my own city that I’d driven through a hundred times without really seeing. I’ve traveled to new places specifically because there were caches there I wanted to find. I’ve had conversations with strangers who became friends because we were both standing in the woods holding GPSs and grinning like idiots.

I’ve learned to read terrain differently. To think like a hider. To appreciate the creativity and effort that goes into a really good cache placement. To respect the landowners and park rangers and volunteers who make this hobby possible.

I’ve learned that sometimes the cache is just an excuse. The real treasure is the place itself—the view from the overlook, the history of the old foundation, the quiet of the forest at dawn.

What I’ve Learned (That Has Nothing to Do With Geocaching)

Here’s the thing about sticking with something for twelve years: you learn lessons that apply to everything else.

I’ve learned that consistency matters more than intensity. That showing up regularly—even if it’s just for one cache on a random Tuesday—builds something meaningful over time.

I’ve learned that the journey really is more important than the destination. That the “DNF” (Did Not Find) logs teach you as much as the successful finds.

I’ve learned that community makes everything better. That sharing your adventures—and celebrating other people’s—multiplies the joy.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to do something just because it makes you happy. You don’t need a deeper reason. You don’t need to monetize it or optimize it or turn it into content (though here I am, writing about it, so maybe I’m a hypocrite).

And I’ve learned that at 50, you’re not too old for treasure hunts. You’re not too old for adventure. You’re not too old to discover new things about yourself and the world around you.

If anything, you’re exactly the right age.

Here’s to Year Thirteen

Twelve years down. Who knows how many more to go.

But I’ll tell you this: as long as there are caches to find and trails to hike and new lenses through which to see this weird, beautiful world, I’ll keep showing up.

Because that’s what geocachers do. We keep the pen moving. We keep our boots laced. We keep looking for the next adventure. And we never stop finding reasons to say “just one more cache.”

See you on the trail.