Dear reader,
Knocked low with the flu and wading through illness fog, Joe and I both received job offers in Colorado. We had invited such doors to open, but when they did, we froze. We deliberated. Worried. Despaired. Slept. Then chose to listen to hope instead of fear — hope for a better work-life balance, more time together, and more time outside.
I have moved enough in my adult life to recognize the sensations. A pit midway between stomach and chest — sadness at leaving loved ones. A liminality to the day to day — not here, but not there, thinking in boxes and lasts. An urge to rip off the Band-Aid holding together the skin of here and the skin of there, whether the wound in the middle is healed or not. The buzz of excitement for what lies ahead.
I cope how I always do — with books. I find Pam Houston’s A Little More About Me at Recycled Books. I scarf down half of it on the plane flight to Denver for house hunting.
Houston is connected to her wildness in a way I admire and crave. When her professors warned her that if she moved to Park City, she’d never finish her PhD, that all she’d care about would be skiing and mountains, she moved anyway. They were right - she didn’t finish her degree. But she didn’t regret it. She traded the classroom for the world, running whitewater rivers and hiking backcountry trails.
While I feel I am a suburban housecat and Houston is a mountain lion, like her I feel called to be outside as much as possible. For work and for play. Her essays reawaken that part of me, a part that can so easily be snuffed out by its unconventionality, by the low pay of outdoor work, by the limited options in Texas.
In one essay, Houston guided a group of tourists on a week long raft trip. After a day of navigating rapids, they set up camp and cooked dinner over fire. Houston hiked a little ways over to soak her body in the heated water of a natural hot springs, a sky of stars above her.
The feeling that passage evokes is one I know. The resounding peace of a certain oneness. Body worn, but mind quiet. The sound of the wind in the trees. My favorite feeling in the world.
I’m excited to return to outdoor work. To the garden, the soil, my body.
When have you, dear reader, chosen hope over fear?
Until next time,
A
IG: aadami_writing