Exactly two months ago, I was in St. Louis Missouri—972 miles into the 1,763 mile journey to Colorado from New York—completely unsure of what the road ahead for me had in store.
A lot has happened in those two months.
Where to even begin? In 60 days, aside from moving my life across the country, I traveled to Bend, Oregon for a running and writing workshop with Lauren Fleshman and Marianne Elliot. It was an incredible experience of running in the PNW mountains and peeling open the boundaries of my own writing. I also went to Seattle for a work retreat, which immediately followed flying to San Francisco to meet Paul Simon at a private benefit concert. (Yes, Paul is awkward and short. BUT he played all the classics and he can call me Al whenever/always.) Most recently was a trip to Santa Barbara for my wonderful friend's wedding, where I drank enough gin to the point where even typing "gin" hurts.
It was beautiful and lovely and hilarious and I wish Tara and Dom would have a wedding every year.
I don't think I'll be on a plane again for awhile, which is good. I've felt pretty unsettled because of all the travel, though I've still managed to let Colorado life do its thang while I've been here.
I started and left a job within one month (long story), spent quality time with family, went to Breckenridge and The Rockies, climbed three mountains, been to too many craft breweries, if such a thing, went on nine interviews (fingers crossed!), made a friend, made out with lots of future husbands #polygamy, moved into my very own apartment with a real fireplace and porch and have decided I will be living alone forever and ever, started meditating every day sorta, joined a yoga studio, got my winter ski pass (one $600 swipe and a heart attack later), bought a bike, and have yet to be eaten by a mountain lion.
So yeah. A lot can happen in two months. A lot has.
Amidst all of this "stuff" though, is the realization that life has been full, but far from perfect. My family out here is amazing. The mountains are soulful and energizing. The leaves, the space, the energy...this is where I'm supposed to be.
But despite the beauty, I recognize that uprooting your life is really hard. I miss my friends and family. I miss not getting lost. I miss not having to think about timezones. I'm so incredibly desperate for a routine, which has yet to happen due to #funemployment a.k.a. STRESS. (Side note: When is not having a job ever "fun"? It's not only the financial stress, but missing the feeling of working on something important and using my brain in different ways. Guess I coulda started writing my book but eh.)
Even with the new adventures and breathtaking beauty (literally and figuratively; Boulder's at 5,430', a humbling experience for any sea-level runner), I've been stressed. I want things to work out right away, and am very impatient when it comes to being open to experiences out of my control.
That said, an important lesson came to me when reading this book on Mindfulness. In one section, Trungpa writes:
"You have no idea what will happen once you get there. Still, you are inspired to make the trip. You usually don't know exactly what the goal is, but you keep going. As you walk on the path, at the beginning your vision may be clouded, but still you are seeing something, which encourages you to keep going. Experiencing physical and psychological blockages in your practice is discovering the textures of the path. Sometimes, the road is smooth and covered with asphalt; sometimes it's rocky and strewn with boulders; sometimes it's a dirt track during the forest. You should follow the path rather than destroy it. In fact if you want to have a path to follow, it has to be made out of something."
Soooo, path, here is my open statement to you: Bring it. Bring the rocks and boulders, the dirt track and smooth asphalt. I am grateful I have you to journey on, and know I have the strength to keep on walking.