Two Sides
As always, there are two sides to every story…and when it comes to the past week, I can’t really tell one without the other.
So, to begin - we spent the past six days out in Massachusetts.
I can now say that I’ve had my first Covid test (holy itchy nose - but the state of Massachusetts required it and a little discomfort was more than worth it!!).
I can say I’ve been in an airport, on a plane during the pandemic (just think LOTS of hand sanitizer, lots of dirty looks aimed at people who still believe the mask rule doesn’t apply to them, and lots of empty middle seats).
I can say that I’ve FINALLY gotten to hug my dog-niece (I can’t say she enjoyed it - but I think we’re now part of the pack).
Oh - and I can say that I’ve had my very first apple cider donut (and I feel like I could inhale another two or three right this minute).
My brother and his husband live in one of the little towns surrounding Boston, and it’s been three years since we’ve been back. We started scheming about this trip when they were out here for Christmas last year - and decided to hold to our plans, pandemic be damned, because we just can’t know what’s coming. Taking every possible opportunity to spend time with the ones we love has begun to feel more and more like a priority.
On other trips, in other years, we probably would have gone out to eat a LOT and spent at least some time in the city proper. But this time around, we just hung out at their place, cooking and talking and watching movies, or spent time exploring one of the seemingly endless natural spaces in the area.
Autumn in Colorado is a very gold sort of season - but New England is full of peach and rust and ruby, which almost overloads my color-loving mind. We walked miles and miles over spongy forest floor and slick, bald granite while leaves rained gently down. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to feel the smoke-induced rattle in my chest begin to ease.
Obviously, when we decided to make this trip - when we picked our days, bought our tickets - we weren’t thinking that we might someday move that part of the country. But we’re thinking about it now, of course. And that thinking colored the trip just as much as the leaves. There were questions and discussions about the weather, the seasons, the people. We even drove by a few farms we’ve been casually looking at online. We were visiting but also assessing if that makes sense. What would it be like to live there? Who would I become if that was the decision we chose to make?
Which, of course, led me down a wild and winding thought trail that I’m still navigating now. Basically, I’ve been pondering the idea of building an identity around something vs. incorporating something into an identity. Let me give an extreme example.
When Eric and I first got together, way back in high school, he loved bikes. And in seeing how much he loved bikes, I latched on, too, because I wasn’t sure the things I loved in life were interesting or important enough. So I followed Eric where his cycling passion led him - first to road biking, then to mountain. And pretty quickly I became Bike Girl.
Now, in the way that is wonderfully, terribly, intensely me, I of course took all of this way too far. When I switched my major from equine science to mechanical engineering my first year of college, I tried very hard to frame everything I was learning into how it might relate to bike building and design. I tried to get a job at a bike shop, bike everywhere I could, read, dream, create everything BIKES. Even as Eric’s interests began to change, I held on for dear life.
I think we’ve all been in that place to some extent, where we feel unsure or insecure and so we hide behind a THING or an IDEA. It may initially seem easier than following our gut towards true passions, but ultimately it’s a brittle bond that’s difficult to sustain because there’s no heart in it. That’s definitely what happened for me - I got to a point where I couldn’t pretend anymore and started listening to my heart. Switched into the art department. Found myself again.
My little “aha!” this past week was a simple change of language that puts everything into perspective. Basically, at the root of it, it’s as simple as just saying you’re YOU first and foremost.
So, if I had been able to call myself the Girl Who Loves Bikes back then, instead of Bike Girl, I would have seen the facade I was building. Because I knew, even then, that I don’t love bikes. Not road, ESPECIALLY not mountain. I’m good for a gentle pedal down to the bakery on my chunky old cruiser, but other than that…bikes just aren’t my thing.
To tie this big ol’ tangent back in, I guess I realized that I’ve been really stuck on being the Colorado Girl - maybe for my whole life, maybe just since we moved out to California and I found myself needing to latch onto something to keep from spiraling out of control. But now I’m freeing myself, daily, every time I realize that I’m not Colorado Girl - I’m the Girl who loves Colorado, who is Inspired by Colorado, who Will Always Think of Colorado as One of Her Homes. But whether I’m here or there or anywhere in between, I’m always me.
Solidly. Wholly.
So much weight, weight I didn’t realize I was carrying, has been lifted with just these few little thoughts. I can be an infinite number of things, pick them up and put them down as I please. How wonderful is that? It makes the future seem so much less daunting.
And now, for side two of this week - because while we were surrounding ourselves with family and food and deciduous forest magic, things back home just kept on burning. I think the exact words that went through my head on Wednesday were, “This asshole fire is going to burn everything that I love.”
Now, of course, this was me being dramatic. Our home is safe along with all of our family members here - and that’s the most important thing. Even now, in this moment, I will stubbornly continue to remind myself how lucky I am. But this past week, high winds and high temps (they didn’t break, as I had hoped!) stirred the flames into a frenzy and the fire suddenly made a beeline straight for our town. It’s now the largest fire in Colorado history and, lucky us, we’ve got a front row seat.
Every couple hours I’d check in for updates, watch as the flames crept closer and closer to beloved trails, to home, to the horses. And then on Friday night? Mandatory evacuation orders reached the road right next to the barn and it was time for them to go. SO - thousands of miles away, I stayed up late hoping to the horse gods that Cirrus would get his mustang butt on a trailer without me there. He did (eventually!) and he, Paloma, and the rest of the herd were driven south to an evacuation center. Again, everyone is safe and the barn is still untouched - but the path of this monster continues to be so personal.
As we flew back into Denver, my heart in my throat, the sky was once again shrouded. If you’ve never seen a plume of wildfire smoke, just imagine billows of oily, bruise-colored clouds rising from the earth. Yellow light. Air thick. The flaming cherry on top was that once we landed, we learned that the smoke we’d seen from the air was from a brand NEW fire, sparked only hours before. Last week, I thought for sure we were coming to the end of this madness - now, I grow less and less sure by the day.
We went to see the horses first, of course. Paloma came right to the fence, sweetheart that she is, but Cirrus took a little longer. At first he turned tail and and gave us that “too cool for you” attitude he uses when he’s unsure but doesn’t want anyone to know. But - and I could cry writing this - when he realized it was me, there was instant relief. He nickered and let me gently rub the soot from his eyes. Yawned and yawned and yawned (a sign that he was releasing tension throughout his whole body).
After our pony visit, it was back towards home with a lightning quick stop at the barn - fire just beyond the ridge - to gather my saddle, just in case. We picked up the cats from Eric’s parents, the dogs from mine.
And then home. I’m both happy and unhappy to be here.
2020 - the year that continues to require me to stretch my wings while simultaneously pulling out feathers, a fistful at a time. A little bit forwards, a little bit back - but still moving. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to get back to creating tomorrow, to jump into the holiday restock while so much feels like an ugly tangle, but I’ll manage in that way we all do. One step (or solder seam) at a time.