Monday, October 1, 2012

A coming home--

Thursday was exactly 6 weeks and 1 day between when I drove away from R's apartment in Boulder and when my plane landed at DIA. Every time I think about coming home, I don't want to do it because I know it will hurt. Every time I come home, it hurts. Every time I think about leaving home, I don't want to do it because I know it will hurt. But I'm already used to how frustrating I am, so I just repeat these same steps, over and over, and I deal with my crap, and I usually have some beautiful moments in the meantime.

This trip home was about getting my first tattoos, saying goodbye to my friends who are now also moving from Colorado [S to Portland and K&D to San Francisco], celebrating the wedding of one of my oldest friends, and retrieving my best pet friend from my parents' house where he has been since I moved to Los Angeles.

My friend Brad did my tattoos. He's got major skills, so I was a little embarrassed when I asked him for the following tattoos, but he obliged because he's known me since I was 16, he's been putting up with my crap for long time, and he's a nice person. Even when he makes fun of me. The tattoos hurt, but in a good way. Like in a new way. Like feeling my wrist bone vibrate underneath the needle. Like nothing else I've ever felt before.
Left: Colorado. Right: Orion.

After my tattoos, I drove around C-470 admiring my beautiful state before ending up at a restaurant in our suburbs for S's goodbye party with the other boys who've always made fun of me. Buckets of alcohol were involved. So were shovels. Shovels and buckets and alcohol and a bunch of high school friends, my first friends, slowly drifting to different parts of the world.

And then there was the wedding...

And the wedding reception...

And my other group of high school friendsand their partners, and their new friends, our new friends, a group that grows even as it spreads apartdanced and sang and celebrated until after midnight, when we sent the happy couple off to begin their married life together.

I reserved Sunday for my return to Boulder, because I knew I'd need time to process my not living there anymore. And even though pretty much anyone who knows me would punch me for saying the following, I think I want to live in Boulder more than anywhere else. I don't mean now, but someday. I am so at peace there. None of the ridiculous Boulder bullshit even bothers me because there is the creek and there is art and there is yoga and there are mountains and there are bikes and there is calm and patience and love. I don't think I'll ever be able to adequately explain my attachement to that place, but it's just as strong as ever.

And because I couldn't bridge the gap between our distance, I played Beirut on loop since I've been home. And I remembered every wonderful moment spent here this exact weekend last fall. And I remembered the quiet valley and the aspens in my front yard and the stars and my silent laughter every time I claimed those Beirut lyrics as my own.

Now as the air grows cold
The truth unfolds
And I am lost
And not found

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