Reading The Land of Little Rain by Mary Austin for my last hurrah of a block at CC (Lit + Nature) and, man, am I happily drowning in her words. She makes me question my sanity in leaving the burning deserts and scarred foothills for the isolated cold north. She reminds me of my roots, of what I can always return to, as well as excites me for what is soon to come. In four weeks, my younger sister and I will drive through southern Colorado, into New Mexico, through Arizona, until I dip back into the bristly valleys of my (California) home. I’ve taken this 23 hour route three times before. Always so decadent. The blinding sandy white and cosmic sharp reds. The Southwest. A dry heat I claim to hate but so adore, so so so crave. I can’t wait. Even as I spin in the remains of this sunny spring’s chill, as I try to stay right here in Colorado Springs, my mind skips of to what’s to come.
Commencement. The drive from Colorado to California. Summer with my family. An internship I’m less than psyched about. Revisions, revisions, revisions. Always revisions. A blessed jaunt to Cabo with my family. An arguably more blessed family slip up to Lake Nacimiento, perhaps with some wine tasting thrown in. The Orange County bristling heat I find myself writing about every day. My 23rd birthday. The ten day journey that will carry me north by car and boat. Alaska. A new world and phase and whatever the hell you want to call it that I’m more terrified of than I care to admit. But eager. More than anything, I’m eager and open to the new and the pain and the unexpected and the cold and the beauty.
My thoughts are blissfully scrambled. So much to do. So much to say. So many friends to share a final cup of coffee with, a slice of cake, necessary moments to go bonkers insane in the shadow of the rugged Front Range. Trails to stomp on. Roads to drive too fast on. Books to read for my final course. sponsored music festivals to jump and sway at in the inevitable May gloom. Papers to write. Books and clothes and a life to pack. Goodbyes to be said. Ouch ouch ouch. I sold my bed last week. My desk is next. Giving up possessions always sends my head on a spin. I’ve been sick as hell since Friday, but I swear, my gosh, I love these days. And I’m taking it as slowly as I can, trying to appreciate every fleeting breath of this thin clear air.
Insight from others helps calm the brain. Always.
“We are not all born at once, but by bits. The body first, and the spirit later… Our mothers are racked with the pains of our physical birth; we ourselves suffer the longer pains of our spiritual growth.”