I didn’t post while I was up in the mountains. I could have. I absolutely could have broken away and spent the forty-five minutes to add some scattered notes and that probably would have been the wiser option. But old vacation habits died quite hard. I didn’t think about anything but the very moment I was in. I worried ever so slightly about driving or more rightly, being transported to the mountains and if the elevation or any little thing at all whatsoever would have triggered.
I’m hopeful about going back to write about the excellent nature of what did transpire. Not only to fill out the deck, but to explore what is true: Which was the fact that I had an excellent and relaxing vacation – five days par exemplum when it comes to the idea of not being owned by my anxieties. Of properly enjoying a peaceful, mostly spontaneous, stretch of time not owned by my job or some man in some far distant land or of this exhaustive mess of things I have to haul about and care for in my house. I was travelling light. It was marvelous.
This morning, waking up to see the view in the skylight at the Airbnb of a giant side of a mountain, we got up, got packed, cleaned the house up of all our water bottles, and bottles of booze, and with a warmed up car, drove home in the most glorious, sunny morning you can imagine down and around the side of the mountain. I felt like I was showing my friends the absolute best of what Colorado can be. A winter that is sight, but not pain. No slick roads to contend with, just little gingerbread houses and Red Dead Redemptive scenery. I was quite proud.
Then, our final meal together: tacos, the best version of them, then a shot to my sister and her boyfriend’s home where they could finally meet some of the most important people in my life. Then, a ride home and a hard crack as we hit the wall of recalling all the work I was trying to do and the person I was trying to be before I left. How I wanted to snap right back to work. Trying to do that by being here and doing this.
But what I’m attracted to in my arrival home is adulthood. It’s enduring one’s own distracted, concerned mind and accepting that there are things that must be done. Meeting the timelines of my own reality. Bucking up, buckling down, not crying for someone else to find a way. Monday – let’s do our damndest to keep this in mind.
Maybe along the way I was hopeful that I would have received some message from the RP’er. Some final moment where he might have reached out and written some kind and final farewell as I endeavored to do two years ago. When I felt the extreme burden of moral clarity and I acted upon it in a moment of absolutely murky logistics. At this point, the google-fu has made it equally morally clear that occurred in a window that is now entirely closed.
So back to the drawing board. More to say, more to say. Best to stop mid-sentence, leave them all hungry for more.