Now, I'm not leaving to move back to Pennsylvania, and I'm not leaving because I've been run out of town (although what a story that'd make for the Wild West). I have wonderful reasons to be peacing out of the Front Range.
Fate (and by "fate" I mean "Pagosa Springs Elementary") offered my other half a teaching job; he took it. Even if it weren't an area he liked, he'd have had to take it. (It's the economy, stupid.) But everything came up Aaron, and he got a grade he likes in an area he likes where he already has a house with a wife whose work is portable.
And so we're going.
Pagosa Springs, Colorado, has a population of about 1,800. ...My high school was bigger than that.
It is, without a doubt, a big change for me: I grew up in the suburbs, went to college with 40,000 other undergrads, and moved to a city. I've never lived in a place without other family members. My neighborhood roads were always paved. I've never lived hours and hours from Target (or something of the sort).
Change doesn't have to be a bad thing.
My beagle will have much more room to play, inside and out. I'll never have to worry about a parking space. Aaron and I will finally have all of our collective stuff in one place. We'll have a hot springs pass and a greenhouse — and perhaps some chicks. I'll edit on the deck, with a view of Pagosa Peak.
Oh, and some other big changes include, y'know, marriage. Work. And very soon my name (legally, finally).
I've never considered anyone else in my relocations, in my job choices, in my finances. (Well, OK, I consider the dog in my finances, but she doesn't have access to my bank accounts.) We're doing this together. I'm excited to do it together.
But excitement for our future doesn't change how I feel about my adoptive city.
Fewer than 10 days after graduation, I arrived at my cousins' house. Moving here meant spending more time with people I care so, so much about — and being broken in to Colorado culture gently by people who care so, so much about me, too. I doubt I would have moved here if it weren't for Heather and Mark. They gave me the guts to work hard to get out to Colorado. You can bet I'll be paying it forward.
And those little girls? I learned about parenting. I re-learned how to have fun with my imagination instead of a tailgate. I reveled in hugs and laughter.
Two weeks after arriving, I got my first post-college job! How's that for turnaround? (Economy, schmeconomy.)
I found the Penn State alumni bar — and found friends. This gave me a safe, close, happy place to get in some gridiron goodness and to feel at home. (On fall Saturdays, anyway: Pat's is a Philly bar otherwise, and we all know how quickly I'd probably die in such a place.)
I got my own place. I got a beagle puppy. I got 14ers. I got to see my (sometimes surprisingly victorious) visiting Pirates, Steelers, and Penguins.The PSU alumni bar later gave me one of the best things ever: Aaron. If you know the story, you know it's a good one. If you don't know the story, the very short version is that we met there. May [the deity of your choosing] forever smile on Penn State football and that bar.
I got snowshoes. I got new, better jobs. I got an engagement ring. I got more nearby family, as Aunt Lisa and Uncle Ed moved westward, and I tacked on a brother-in-law.
I love this place.
I don't know where I'm going to make new friends when we move. I'm certain there's not a Penn State alumni bar anywhere near Pagosa Springs — Colorado Springs might be the closest, and it's at least four hours away.
I don't know where our "nearest" Target is (as if there were multiple from which to choose). I think there's a Wal-Mart in Durango.
I don't know how my little Neon is going to handle the back roads in the winter. Maybe he'll need all-season tires?
I don't know when I'll next see everyone I care about in the Front Range. The phone will have to do for now.
The I-don't-knows don't scare me. They're just new projects that I am lucky enough to tackle with my other half.
One more I-don't-know: I don't know how to fully express what Denver — and Colorado as a whole — has meant to me.
And on that note, take me home, country roads. We leave on Saturday.
