Finding my exit from the beautiful San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff settled with a surreal sadness. I had found my out- I discovered the very golden ticket I needed to thrust myself into the world I so desperately wanted to place myself in. Its funny though- as much as I wanted to jump ship, I wanted so terribly to take a stream of individuals with me. And their artistic approaches to life. And their dance moves. And their cats.
Okay so I wanted the whole of my Flagstaffian life to trail after me into the sea.
That wasnt going to happen. Being an opportunistic individual attempting to live within multiple realms at once, I was bound to be upset when my own inability to transexist through questionably existent realms came into manifestation. So, I am here. Sitting in the quaint little living room of my buddy Rafa, I’m typing about how much I love that freaking little mountain town. Part of me knows I will never go back, and that part of me also finds it rather interesting how much I can look back with nostalgia, but a nostalgia that lacks intense emotion. Is that even nostalgia then? I know, I know, my culture shocked heartbeat of a timeline hasnt settled into the sadness that will come in questioning my move so far away. For now, though, the observation remains the same- I love that little place so very freaking much.
Its a place where you find yourself not tolerated- no, not in the least bit. You are celebrated. This is the place where my dreams of dancing like a fool through my controlled stumble of a life was witnessed with eager appreciation. I had climbing buddies and mimosa mornings. My best friend lived across the street. Every third person I knew was a recognized artist and the ones and twos between are artisans in the cultivation of their daily lives. It is a town of magic and I had to leave.
But that is not remorse you hear. That is the understanding that, as the lovely woman on Virginia Beach tried to remind me of while upselling a mass produced dainty anklet ( she had her work cut out for her too, as there is nothing dainty about me ), ‘nothing lasts forever’. And she was right. Nothing- not even the ever present feeling of immortality in our greatest moments of joy. Not even our deepest, most consuming lows. Nothing will survive this life. Needless to say, I bought the anklet with some kind of bold statement to this understanding and set my mind into the positivity of pulling all that is good- no matter its temperamental status- from the journey I had so hastily signed myself up for.
I knew how to make the best of those idle moments that strung themselves together while I smoked my spliffs on the balcony of my house in Flagstaff. I knew who to call and when for what at any given moment. But that was comfort. To experience that sentiment is delightfully sound in its presence, yes, but the journey to that moment is what we as animals strive for. Thus, I must reignite my discomfort in order to make my way back to that kush little spot in the center of it all.