Struggling to Stay, Impossible to Leave

I used to write in my travel blog a few times a week. I don't know if it helped me to process anything, but it certainly didn't hurt. Five years have gone by and now I'm settled into this place. I've unpacked the last box, but not the last memories. I've been saving those, unable to face them.

Four years ago, I wrote this piece for Matador about my struggle to stay in one place. I had just moved to Colorado with the intention to sit still for awhile and watch what happened. What happened was messy and confusing as I struggled to unpack and interpret my conflicting desires and dreams. Even now, I struggle. There are still aspects of traveling the world and living out of a suitcase that I miss enormously. I still get restless and stir-crazy. The only cure is to throw my gear in my truck and drive to the middle of nowhere in search of adventure. I have to run until I am ready to return home. I don't know that I'll ever get over that.

But in learning how to stay I have watched a life unfold that I could never have imagined. I've tied myself to this patch of land with horses and gardens and the messy, muddy, furry, feathered creatures that I love best of all. The urge to run still courses through me, but in my heart of hearts, in the midst of my overwhelming restlessness, I know I wouldn't trade the muddy paw prints or the trust of a certain Haflinger or chasing chickens off the patio furniture for anything else.

When the sun hits these mountains and the rooster crows and the barn cats stalk mice in the fields and Nitro is impatient for his breakfast, I know that I want to be here with messy hair and muddy boots, watching it all unfold.