rethinking every thought (or, being a great beauty in an ugly world)

This photo was in my FB newsfeed this morning.

The caption was: Nyakim Gatwech, a South Sudanese model, may have the darkest skin in the world.

My first thought was, “I wonder what it would be like to go through life being that beautiful.”

I often have that thought. There used to be a model in the Sundance catalog who had the most incredible green eyes and outrageous, wild, free-range hair; I imagined waking up and looking in the mirror and having those eyes look back at me. I would ask myself, “Would my life be so much better if I had that hair?”

Yes, actually, it would.

She probably has her “fat days” and “ugly days” just like the rest of us. Maybe even gets a zit or two, but I still can’t fathom being that stunning.

While I can admit that I am fairly attractive, I am certainly not jaw-dropping gorgeous.

“She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Unlike the great beauty, Ms. Gatwech, with her flawless skin and mile-long legs…

and her youth.

Okay, not everyone reads the morning newspaper in a black strappy dress, heels, with a glass of wine, casually seated on the 8,000-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I certainly don’t.

I don’t even read the paper.

I usually prefer coffee or tequila instead of wine first thing in the morning.

Anyway, I have the thought about being so stunning and what life must be like, etc., and then, reality kicks in, and I think,

Her striking looks, her incomparable beauty, her forever legs that aren’t mottled with cellulite and scars – these things that I struggle to imagine having myself – these things don’t change the fact that she is black.

In America.

And while I understand that I will never experience life as a gorgeous head-turner, what I really will never experience is being a black woman in this country.

And unfortunately, If I am going to be truly honest, I am shamefully grateful for this reality.

#blacklivesmatter

#whiteprivilege

#checkyourracisimatthedoor

 

 

zip code

After 24 years as a resident of 81328, I am mixing things up, heading west, and will be a new member of the 81321 community.

Holy shit, right?

It was just finalized yesterday afternoon and still hasn’t sunken in. I was going to savor it, roll it over in my mind, get used to the idea, before making it public. But, as we all know, there are no secrets in a town this size and word has gotten out already; the rumor mill has begun and therefore I am making an official announcement.

Questions abound, such as: Why would you leave your cabin that you love so much? Why wouldn’t you stay here, where you raised your boys? What about your friends here? Why 81321???

I would never, ever leave this cabin if I didn’t have to. It has been such a sanctuary for me. I would not have survived the past three years without these 800 square feet to call my home. The beauty, views, access to the lake, birds, bears, lovely neighbors, peace and quiet; it has all helped me to heal from tragedy and pain.

But, my wonderful landlords actually want their home back. They would like to live in this perfect place. I always knew this day would come, although I had hoped instead that they would call one day and say, “You’ve paid enough rent, the cabin is yours.”

That did not happen.

They gave me notice months in advance so no rush. After my initial distress, I started thinking about the requirements for my new home starting with “where.” Every time I left the house and drove somewhere, I thought, “I could live here, or maybe here, ooh, definitely not there.”

And weirdly enough, it didn’t even cross my mind to look in my home town, even after all of these years.

I had become rather myopic about the 1300 people and .6 square miles of my town, but since moving to this cabin, located between towns, I have expanded my world to the rest of the County.

For those of you who know here you understand the significance of County. For those of you who don’t, this is the rural west, what county you live in is more significant than the town. Ours has a very strong identity, vastly different from the surrounding areas. Ours has a distinct persona, one that I am proud to be a part of, yet because of said myopathy, I lost connection to. 81328 is fabulous, but only a piece of this place that I call home.

And 81328 is changing. Changing in ways that I don’t love. I’ve caught myself, many a time, mumbling under my breath, “fucking newcomers.” I have felt crowded and curmudgeonly.

Dating TAM has drawn me out of that tiny world. I have spent vast amounts of time reacquainting myself with people and places that have been out of my range. It has been lovely.

I have had a renewed love affair with the community at large.

So when I learned that I would have to move, I began a list of what I would need in a new home to make it okay to leave this one.

quiet. private. views. birds. space. closer to TAM. excellent landlords (because mine are the very best.) liveable inside space – although I can be quite creative so inside wasn’t quite as important as outside. space for Elvis without being so close to anyone that I would have to worry about him taking a leg off a passerby. solitude and beauty.

most importantly, a place to sit outside and drink my coffee naked if I want to.

One morning a place popped up on FB, I called, I went there immediately (the Jersey Girl pushed her way right up to the front of the line) and I fell in love.

Primarily because of the one requirement that wasn’t on the list (because I never thought it could be)…

It’s in the Desert.

Yes, my dear readers, I am moving to the desert. Red rock, sand, cactus, cliffrose, scorpions, lizards, heat. My heart’s desire.

It’s about fucking time.

This new home meets all of my other desires except it’s farther away from TAM, not closer. But he is lovely and supportive and we will make the extra driving work. It’s only 15 minutes more.

My view to the south is a giant sacred mountain. To the north, it’s open pasture all the way to the border of our local National Monument – a canyon landscape that I will be able to wander at will, filling my soul with magic and beauty. Between my home and the slickrock is a creek that feeds into the river which holds me heart.

And, it’s here. It’s not leaving the state. I’m still going to shop at the same grocery store. I’m still close to my children and my dearest friends. I will come back to 81328 to work, but then I will return to a refuge in the canyons. A place that feels a million miles away.

I’m dropping almost 2000 feet in elevation.

No more digging my way out of multiple feet of snow.

I realize, remember really, that I am a wanderer. Nomadic. Before coming here, I had never lived in one place for more than two years. I get it from my mom; she too is an adventurer. I stayed in one place for so long because I raised my children here.

And because I love it.

But the kids are out and doing great. And I do most of my work from home. And I have no choice but to move.

With this sudden freedom, my hunger to explore new places, creating a home in an as yet unlived-in community, can be fed. I hate moving, but I love to “move in.”

I like to mix it up and I haven’t for so very long.

I feel a certain sense of freedom. I am spreading my wings. I am expanding. Leaving my safe little world. While a bit nerve-wracking, it feels like growth, power, self-love.

It feels like the very right, next thing in my life.

I have made this decision based solely on what I want. I’m not moving to a ranch because of a man. I am not moving to a shitty ski town because of a man. I am not giving up my desert dreams because of another young man and his bad choices.

I am doing this because it will feed my soul.

So goodbye 81328 – you have been so good to me. I have felt safe here. I feel loved. I have friendships that I will continue to nurture and value. I will remain a part of this community, but with some distance.

 

 

 

 

 

blackbirds singing

Whatever my plans, my best intentions, my responsibilities were for this weekend; they’ve all gone right out the window because the red-winged blackbirds are singing.

This means only one thing…

Desert time.

I worked well into the night last night to free up time today. I swear that I will come home and work all day Sunday, and vacuum my house, and do the dishes, and my laundry, and maybe take a shower and water the plants, and pay the bills, and respond to emails, and write the piece that’s due in 3 days.

I will do these things, but there is no way that I can focus while those conk-la-rees! are all around – coming out of the trees, the willows, the tamarisk.

The siren’s call beckons me to come west. It’s not enough to listen to them here at my house. I have to be there.

My excuse is that the dogs need some exercise. And that there is no place here that they can get enough running around and therefore they need the wide-open spaces, the miles of slickrock, the immense blue sky, the river, the silence.

Can’t possibly get their yaya’s out any other place.

And, obviously, they need to stay at The Lodge, take a hot tub under the stars, and eat food from the convenience store next door because there are no other eating establishments open at this time of year.

Yay gas station hot dogs!

And they will sit outside in the morning, with the sun shining on their faces, listening to birds, chatting with the neighbors, drinking coffee, maybe even getting in a little writing.

My dog has learned (and is teaching his buddy) that “we’re going to U-Tah!” means joy all around.

It means freedom and fresh air and sunshine and maybe even rain. It means lizards and unrecognizable rodents and long stretches of uninterrupted space in which to leap and bound and laze in the warmth of the sun on rock.

Maybe there will be swimming – who cares if it’s cold.

Maybe there will be soft-serve ice cream.

Definitely, there will be peace and calm and joy.

And, there will be the song of the birds of spring; the red-winged blackbirds.