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Roots, rivers, and roads

It’s Sunday. The rain is coming and going, in between the snow flakes and the flickers of sun behind oppressive, brooding clouds. Inside though, we’re the opposite of brooding. The mood is spirited, defiant even, in the face of Winter’s last stand. We know that Spring is right behind us, and so we’re all just slightly less wearied by the glower.

On these unhurried weekend mornings that stretch into lazy afternoons, I feel especially exuberant about the current state of affairs here. I wake up to text messages from my roomates asking if I want in on breakfast, and when I go upstairs, this is waiting for me:

At night, we gather together again from the trajectories that split us off during the day, and from our perches around the kitchen we throw things into pots and pans, singing and laughing and trading stories. And as the evenings fade, we drape ourselves on the couches in front of the big windows looking out to the water. Almost always, there is music and foot tapping and raucous giggling. But sometimes it’s just quiet, save for someone sighing audibly at the ever-replenishing fortune of our view. Somehow, we wake up every morning and it’s still there. We don’t know how we got to be so lucky.

Soon, however, I’ll be doing a lot more of this:

I’m ready for it, but I know that I’m going to have to work hard to reel in my luxurious spontaneity for a while. No more last minute midweek climbing dates. No more afternoon trips to the beach just to gaze at the water, just because I can.

But that’s OK. I’m hungry for a challenge again, and I have no doubts that I’m going to get one, and then some. Of course I want to fast forward to the part where I’m finished and I’m on a plane again with a ticket in my hand for somewhere strange and new, and maybe there’s even someone to come home to, but for now I’m practicing that staying power. Practicing hard. And it’s not like I haven’t been having any fun.

Along with the cold, cleansing mountain days, there’s also been a lot of this:

 

and this

 

and this, too:

And on the calendar, just far enough ahead to keep me focused, lie trips to my other adopted homes: the Southwest, the Rocky Mountain West, and yet-to-be-planned adventures in the open spaces in between. I never expected to be pulled in so many directions at once. Never thought I’d feel like just one place was home, let alone several. But it turns out, the places I thought would only be stopping points have succeeded in putting down deep roots into my heart.

Which is okay. Because now I don’t feel like I’m sailing around aimlessly with no where to harbor. Now I have people I love to drop in on, in places I love, and I just feel rich with the conundrum of having to choose.

1 thought on “Roots, rivers, and roads

  1. And now I’m even more chipper! :)

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