I was expecting to experience a release when I emptied my Colorado storage unit. I thought that if I got rid of my physical attachments, maybe the emotional ones would falter, too. If I just dumped my memories at the nearby thrift store, maybe I could move on from this place. And then Colorado would become just like any other state — sweet in its own right, but nothing special, really.
While I was arranging the contents of my life into individual piles, one of my friends told me that: “Purging is a marker of preparedness to move forward.”
I liked the idea that I was creating space for a personal evolution — that by letting go, I might be able to leap into uncertainty in order to become transformed once again. But the reality is that I left Colorado with more questions than answers.
I wondered: What is it about this place that continuously captivates me? How do I reconcile my desire to travel with my need to grow roots? And why is it that I can be happy with a year in most corners of the world, but I always want more of the Rockies?
Instead of letting go, I found myself clinging harder to this particular place.
Maybe it has to do with the endless difficulties, and challenges that the mountain ranges provide. Maybe it’s that my largest and most defined community is established in Denver. Or maybe the thin air gets to my brain, and suddenly I don’t know any better.
In therapy, we often talk about this internal dissonance that I have. I want to be in a thousand places at once. But I also want a home. I want to travel quickly and often. But I also want to be grounded.
Colorado has been a safe harbor for me. But it has also been a launch pad. It was a respite from many tumultuous times. And it continues to be a cultural support beam. Yet, it also propelled me into my current lifestyle, forcing me to grow.
This place is unwavering even when my relationships are not. It makes me sleep even when I’m triggered. It manufactures the kind of cold that hurts your teeth. And it is completely unashamed of its majesty.
Some of us shrink ourselves to seem normal. We might hide our talents or manipulate how the world sees us for fear of standing out. And maybe that’s part of what’s so refreshing about the Rockies. They don’t care if you accept them. They stand proud, fierce, and stunning in their shape. And they act as a constant reminder to simply be yourself.
This year, I’ve been on 16 airplanes. I’ve made it to at least 11 far away destinations. And Colorado is still the only one that feels like home.
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