From the Archives of My Youth
Tonight my heart is happy.
Friday, I made an attempt at re-entering the dating world. Awkward and un-promising as it was, it made me thankful for time with friends where it is not necessary to maintain a smile, to feign interest and to seek reasons to make a hasty exit.
Saturday was long but lovely. A day with my amazing volunteers at the museum followed by a night of music. Having musical friends/ 
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uaintances provides much-needed opportunities to relax and people-watch. The dandy gents of Radical Knitting Circle played the Mercury Cafe. Not only are each of the guys sweethearts, their music is, well, unique–and I can’t help but take a deep breath and smile as soon as I hear, “Too much rock and roll…” tumble out of their mouths. And, for the record, I wish I always had the choice of either alcohol or a nice latte at concerts…there’s something delightful about getting to enjoy my favorite beverage while listening to fantastic live music. The Tanukis were pretty kick-butt awesome as well.
Sunday. I slept in till after noon and woke worried that I’d missed lunch/coffee/dinner with an old friend. We ended up at the Irish Snug, which in retrospect, was absolutely perfect. I’m still feeling rather foreign in Denver, and it wasn’t until the middle of our afternoon conversation that I realized why it felt so happy to be talking with an old friend in an Irish Pub. It was the meeting of my many lives–a dear friend from pre-NH days, a setting reminiscent of grad school where I finally learned how to be a kid, and exploration of a neighborhood stomping ground just down the block from my current abode.
A year and a half ago, I was still reeling from the pains of grad school. Now, I’m ready to break out of my cocoon, yet I feel so awkward. Something my friend asked made me think about why life seems so awkward. I just feel like I’ve stepped backward in my maturation–and I think it’s because all of my history, well, all of my growing up, happened 2000 miles from here. And, I am no longer surrounded by witnesses and comrades of my adventures and exploitations. And really, there’s no returning to those times–but it’s a bit lonely sometimes to not have history here in Denver. Hiking adventures getting lost on mountains. Skating on the pond. Hockey. First boyfriend. First time drunk. First heartbreak. First and last dates. Favorite jogging routes with the girls. Softball babysitting with Max. Favorite walks. Favorite restaurants. Favorite drives when I’m feeling basdfkjhdadlg. I don’t have those things here. And, while I’m beginning to build a history here, it takes time and I tend to get a bit impatient.
My friend asked if I preferred traveling alone or with company. I responded with holidays in mind, yet my answer is probably more reminiscent of my traversing of life. At times, it’s nice to travel alone–you get to do your own thing, set your own pace, people watch, be lazy, be busy. You are master of your time and choice. Yet, it’s also nice to travel with company–to have someone with whom you can share wonderings, observations, fears, triumphs. Someone who bears witness to your conquests. I am independent. Yet I miss having travel companions. It is nice to reunite with an old friend. He is more comfortable in his skin than I am in mine. Perhaps I can learn from him. I’m just thankful that he is willing to take the effort to renew our friendship. It leaves me with the kind of happy you feel in your stomach. Sated.
