Part of the reason for this is that I left Colorado back in March of last year and began driving around the country. Well, not the entire country. That would have been far too ambitious, and y'all know I am definitely not "far too ambitious". In fact, I'd be hard pressed to call myself ambitious at all. But that's another line of thought....
The long and the short of it, is that my ex and I filed for divorce, and I drove away from Colorado the very next day. Packed my dogs in the car, packed some of my belongings, and figured "get the hell out of Dodge". I had moved to Colorado completely because of my ex (and his dog!), and was no longer sure whether Colorado was the place for me or not any more.
It is both amazing and terrifying to have that kind of freedom. I did not have to be anywhere. I could live anywhere -- I could live nowhere. It was about adventure -- exciting and thrilling and forward-looking. It was about failure -- depressing and regretful and backwards-looking. And let's face it: I think way too much as it is. Months on the road basically alone would either kill me or make me stronger.
And do not cue Kelly Clarkson thankyouverymuch!
At the end, I spent just over 7 months away from Colorado. I spent time in Texas; New Orleans; Florida; Delaware; Washington, DC; Alaska (by plane of course!), and Michigan. I wandered a lot, both physically and emotionally and psychologically. I took a lot of steps backwards. I took a lot of steps forward. In the end, I think -- I hope -- I took more steps forward than backwards.
The one thing I can say for certain though, is that after a summer in the humid heat of the East Coast, I realized I missed Colorado. I'm not sure I could have articulated then exactly what I missed, nor am I even sure I could articulate it now. But I knew I missed the mountains somehow.
I also knew though, that I did not miss the isolation and challenges of the cabin. It was pretty simple actually: if I was going to move back to Colorado, I knew it was to the mountains, but I also knew it had to be into town. And so, I ended up renting a place right in town. A place a block off the main street of the town, a place where my neighbors would be humans, not wildlife. A place where if something happened, someone would actually hear me scream.
Depressing to put it that way perhaps, but for me -- that is simply reality. I needed to know that I would no longer be completely on my own; just mostly.
But. Moving into the town meant I was no longer living in Murphy's Cabin. Did it make sense to keep writing a blog titled "Murphy's Cabin" if it was no longer exactly accurate?
After much thought, I have realized it is. This blog is about the entire experience of living at -- or near! -- 10,000 feet. Of being on your own, and of being willing to realize the strength and fortitude required to be on your own. Whether that strength and fortitude need to be applied to keeping an isolated cabin up, or whether they need to be applied to simply waking up each morning, and putting one foot in front of the other.
So. I think it's time for me to start writing again..... And I hope you'll join me. NOT on the journey -- as that's bull shit, and it's about time that word got retired (with a nod to a dear friend on that, so she can rest assured her soap box can be put to better use), but on the experience of living in the present.
As Lao Tzu once wrote:
If you are depressed, you are living in the past.So, this is about trying to learn to live in the present. Fully and completely.
If you are anxious, you are living in the future.
If you are at peace, you are living in the present.
Of course, that might actually be a bit "far too ambitious"...... :)