moving moving moving

I’m always moving.

The last time I wrote here, a looming two months ago, I’d just moved from my condo in Colorado Springs to an A shaped mountain cabin in Chipita Park. And now? I’m sitting in my childhood Orange County home. I have moved again. Yippee.

This was always the plan. My return to California had been anticipated since the slushy days of spring. Yet despite knowing I would eventually leave, my reality continued to root itself into Colorado. Attachments strengthened and new relationships bloomed and so now here I am, so close to the ocean, sitting on old memories, slipping into the fault lines I’ve always feared. I feel off here. Backwards. Like I’m walking on the ceiling, like my head has been forced into my gut. I have no direction without Pikes Peak. What is west? What is east? Don’t mind the ocean, it’s not solid, it’s just a dream.

Am I making sense?

I didn’t mean to skip July. I had every intention of writing an entry. But the days spun past and I was happy and living and thoroughly focused on being there, being in Colorado, being with my summer significant other who yes is now a thousand miles away and I miss wretchedly, being at the job I adored, and laughing with the friends who kept me sane. So I shrugged off any guilt in terms of this dusty blog and now it’s August.

Well. It has been August. This month is ending, and rightfully so.

I traveled through Costa Rica for ten days, turned nineteen, left Chipita Park, abused my friend’s couches for a week, and drove the thousand miles separating Colorado Springs to south Orange County. It’s been a full, blessed August.


I wonder how my tone sounds. My current writer’s voice. Do I sound hurt? Enthused? Nostalgic? Flustered? Giddy? Because, honestly, I think I’m all of those things. I’m content and antsy in the same moment. I’m at home but also homesick. I feel like I have altitude sickness, but wait, that can’t be true. Is there a term for when you drop seven thousand feet in elevation and become ill?

People have asked me why I moved. Why I left Colorado Springs when things were so ideal. I had a full time job, I was paying my own rent, I had incredible friends, I loved the weather, the mountains made me saner. So why did I leave?

I have goals. I have dreams. I want to learn and educate myself and grow. I want to attend school and I want to travel this world. I want to write and write and edit until my eyes bleed. I’m only nineteen. I have the universe before me. Colorado will always be home to me, and I do believe I’ll one day live there again, but I can’t work full time and go to school too. And I can’t let my dad pay for out of state tuition when California has a bounty of colleges to pick from. And gosh, if I’ve missed anything these last eight months, it has been writing. Because I can’t write and work full time and go to school and see loved ones too and my brain will shut off soon if I don’t dip back into my fictional worlds. Writing is my food, so why have I been abstaining? Why did I let my days grow so heavy with selling natural foods that collecting words fell to the bottom of the totem pole?

I was becoming stagnant in Colorado, locked in by my job and money, which is so absurd when you’re as young as me. And maybe I sound selfish, maybe I sound immature and naïve and it’s time to grow up, wake up, but if I have the opportunity to pursue other things and try out new games then it’d be foolish to let them pass. And I should be rash and free while I can, right? I should make these silly decisions and obscure changes while I’m young.

The one thing I believe firmly is that I should always follow my gut, trust my silly intuition, not listen to anyone else, and do what feels right. I can honestly say that I don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made. And Colorado… My time in Colorado was irrevocably impacting. More than just a brief residency, but a period that showed me glimpses of the person I want to be, of the life I want to live, the moments I need to see.


And now I’m back in California. I’m not sure where I’m going. If I start school here, it won’t be until January. I’ll be backpacking in Europe for a month this fall. I have no doubt that when I settle again in the states, writing will reenter my days – poor FIY and AFOT have been deprived. I also hope to focus on publishing again. I don’t know what classes I want to take this spring semester, or if I should move further north or save money and remain with my family, we’ll see. I really don’t know what I plan to do or if my move was futile or if I’m going to go insane with so little rain and if this blog entry has proved me warped in the brain.

But what I do know is that everything will fall into place, and honestly, I’m excited to see where this manic road takes me.