Three Weeks Amongst Mountains

It's hard to believe I am going on my fourth week here in Denver. I finally took that short trip to Boulder. I forgot my camera like an idiot but most of the trip was to just see the mountains up close and do some scouting of this area. I discovered that I loved the little city and will definitely be back often. It is a quaint place, nestled right at the foothills of the mountains; It was very charming and not as overwhelming as downtown Denver. A lot less people, cars and more walkable. It made me get back on my Vespa kick. I feel like I am finally settling into this place. Well, almost.

My place is still naked as a window. But still, I'd take all that nothing over nothing at all.

Something feels different

Denver is a little different, that’s for sure. The clouds seem closer, the air feels fresher. When I look out on the horizon, the majestic mountains are there to look back at me. I feel very connected to my self and to nature, and more of an observer to the people around me. I am mostly content. I don’t have much and I left a lot of things behind but I feel good. My apartments furnishings consist of an air mattress, a few dishes, some clothes and my laptop. I feel like a squatter but despite it all, I’m happy. :) Pickles is with me and I couldn't be more grateful for her enthusiastic companionship.

It’s definitely colder here, the wind is stronger and louder at times. I miss the warm Texas weather a lot. It will snow here and then the sun comes out a few hours later, followed by grey clouds again. I thought the weather in Texas was strange but I see Denver has it beat. Or maybe it’s just the springtime in Colorado.

I think about a lot of things these days. It's all I can do for now. I feel like a monk in silence most of the time. Mandatory meditation, if you will. I wonder if I will be here for a long time, perhaps the rest of my life. If I will ever go back to Texas or if I will ever want to go back. I think about what Texas will look and feel like after I’ve been here a while. Will I even recognize it. I also wonder why I am resisting this change so much. Me, the person who loves and embraces change, who trusts that no matter what, I am doing the right thing, is resisting this one. I feel the winds of change all around the place. Not just in my little world, but everywhere. And I feel it more and more and see it more these days than ever before.
There is something to be said about silence and solitude. It brings out a lot of thoughts, feelings, awareness and questions. It's amazing what we are able to feel without all of the distractions.

Transitioning in Denver

You know that feeling you have when you’re 7 years old, staring down at a bowl of cold, sticky, flavorless oatmeal. It unrelentingly stares back at you. You know in your heart of hearts that it is not only healthy and good for you, but the only breakfast you are going to be able to eat this morning.

(Maybe you don't understand my relationship with oatmeal, but my Grandfather used to make oatmeal for me when I was a kid.  Without digressing too much, he just threw oats in water. That was IT).

And so you force it down. With every dreadful spoon, you tell yourself, “This is good for me… I should appreciate this, other kids are starving.. This is all I’m going to have to eat until lunchtime.” And even though you know these things, it still doesn’t make the oatmeal taste any better. It would have been nice to at least have a choice, right? Maybe even a little honey to make it taste better?

So here I am.

Day 7 in a hotel room in Denver, Colorado. A beautiful place. A healthy decision, the right decision, the only choice I really had; wishing for a sense of relief, my ‘honey’ in all of this gooey, uncomfortable oatmeal.

On my second day in Denver, I decided to venture out into the downtown area. I was still very tired from the 13-hour drive the day and night before. I shouldn’t have been driving around in those tight neighborhood streets filled with cars, bicyclists and pedestrians, but I was excited, curious and had to see what downtown Denver was all about.  I drove around for awhile and just about the time I decided it was time to head back to the hotel, I hit a curb and blew out a tire. Not only did I blow the tire out in a residential neighborhood, I also bent the rim. I got out of the car and assessed the damage. It looked like total shit. I was tired and dumbfounded. Without thinking too much, I opened up the back of the car and took the jack out. I had no choice but to forge ahead. I think I had hoped for someone to help me out a little on this one but after about 30 minutes of me jacking up the car and fumbling with the tire, I realized I was nothing more than a pitiful spectacle with Texas plates.  People rode, walked and drove by looking, but not a single person asked me if I needed help. Honestly, I don’t hold it against them. But it was such a clear moment for me to acknowledge my decision to be totally alone in an unfamiliar city without so much as a AAA membership.  I replaced the tire on my own and felt accomplished, however, I could have done without the cold Denver welcome.

On the better side...

Work has been great. My co-workers are amazing individuals, kind and friendly. I love my office and the company has been so welcoming. Besides my first few weird experiences here, everything is really, really wonderful. I am optimistic and ready for whatever is put in front of me.

This is what I wanted and needed. I am grateful for everything I have been given. Even the hard lessons. The transition isn’t going to be easy, though. Everything that needed to surface is surfacing. When we find ourselves alone like this it can be quite beautiful and painful. Our safety net is gone and we are pretty vulnerable. It’s a great time for introspection and letting go but it’s also a moment of great heights.

I had a breakdown the other night after tire #2 went flat. I looked at my car in despair: donut on the front, squished flat tire on the back, boxes in the back seat and my life in a hotel room in a strange city with nothing but unfamiliar streets and people. Weird. I was so happy to have Pickles here with me. I wonder if she knows how much she is my saving grace. She is my “Wilson” right now on this island

Denver calls.

Today I find myself more pensive than ever as I think about my future in a new city, a new job, a new home, a new life. This is what I wanted, right? Days away from my departure, there's a huge part of me that doesn't want to go. But it's the inner voice in me that says "I know it's going to be hard, but you'll be fine". Leaving this city, my family, friends and my wonderful studio and projects behind is going to be a sacrifice. But it's one that I know I have to make, for me. I know that the outcome is going to be good.

Life is a series of moments where we let go. Sometimes, that letting go also means to embrace change, whether it's the change in our surroundings or the change within our selves.

The precious gift of a voice

It isn't until something is gone, even if momentarily, that we realize what we have. For me, these last few days, I haven't had a voice. I have been sick and lost my voice for about three days which meant barely being able to speak, and certainly, singing was out of the question. I love singing. And this was the first time in my life when I couldn't. The thought of never being able to sing has really made me think about one more thing I take for granted. More than ten years ago, after 9/11, I had recorded a version of the Star Spangled Banner. It was uploaded on what was then mp3.com, a huge worldwide community of musicians. I was chosen out of 50 Anthem singers to be included on the American Red Cross Relief Album. I remember that evening well. I was very honored. After that, my version of our Anthem was used in various presentations, including this one, which I found the other night on YouTube.
It brings back a lot of memories, some very sad, of course. But it also reminded me that my voice is such a precious gift. And not only do I need to take care of it, but I need to take care of me, too. My song begins about 1/4th of the way into the tribute.