Letting myself remember

Back in April, I took a solo trip back home to Colorado.

It was an interesting visit. I stayed in Grand Junction at my parents’ house for a little over a week, pet-sitting while they traveled to see my brother and his family in Turkey. I got to spend about a day and a half with my parents prior to their jet-setting adventure across the world. After that, I was left mostly to my own devices (with two pups by my side).

The bulk of my time was spent working and sitting on the patio, taking in the blue skies and sunshine. However, I did give myself time to do a little adventuring of my own.

After more than a year away living in the Midwest, it felt like the right time to revisit my old haunts. I decided to say a quiet and shy hey, how ya been? to my old town.

I drove the hour and a half to New Castle—it’s the last place we (actually) lived. Then, I continued down the interstate to Glenwood Springs. This is the town where we worked and played and told everybody we lived. (As we discovered during our tenure, nobody really knows about New Castle, lol).

New Castle

My time in New Castle was brief. I did the slow and stealthy drive by our old house, doing my best to drink in the details. I looked for changes the new owners made, cataloguing what remained exactly the same. Unexpectedly, I had to hold my breath to dam tears that started to well. The rush of emotion was shocking, but I guess that’s the nature of greeting a home I never really said goodbye to.

(Our move was so, so fast. Back in 2022 we were out of town less than a month and a half after we decided to leave. It left no time for a satisfying closure, though I didn’t know it until Exactly This Moment.)

After the drive-by, I took myself to our old neighborhood park, sat on a grassy hill, and gazed at the hogback mountains for a while. I took a few photos, tried to sort out my feelings, and decided that if nostalgia was a drug, it’d be the type of depressant that requires close monitoring.

Glenwood Springs

Next came the star of the day-trip: Glenwood Springs. Besides a quick drive around downtown (as beautiful as ever), a stop for tacos (Slope and Hatch, always) and a patio to eat and drink (Casey Brewing and Blending, my favorite), I spent the bulk of my visit at Glenwood Hot Springs.

You might recall Glenwood Hot Springs. I’ve written about this place a lot.

If I ever had stomping grounds, this was it.

As soon as my toes hit the hot water (after the process of parking, buying a pass, and admiring the head-to-toe transformations of the bathhouse locker rooms and marveling at how much could change in so little time), I met the rush of dozens of memories.

I remembered spring break in 2016, when Chad and I visited Glenwood for the first time. In that same pool (the largest in the world!), we decided that we wanted to move here after college. So, a year and change later, we did.

I remembered all the endless cold-call emails I sent to local businesses before graduating college. At the time, I introduced myself as a journalist moving to the area, looking to cross into public relations. I had a nice resume, no PR experience, and a resolve to use my major, god damn it. One person, of a one-person firm, responded and took me in. Glenwood Hot Springs was our biggest client.

I remembered those three years of my career. For most of it, I convinced journalists to come and visit, to write about this mountain town and its geothermal waters. I loved every story that came from our efforts, but could live without trying to explain my job again and again to friends and family and the hot springs staff who sure as shit did not know we worked together and did not understand what a media trip had to do with them.

(Note: there’s a family member who thinks I’m a travel agent. I guess no one has ever bothered to correct them, and who am I to shatter their perception of me?)

I remembered thinking, after years of burn out—both academically and professionally, “I’m ready to write again.” When I did, I dedicated a portion of my blog to exploring hot springs across the state.

I remembered taking out of town visitors to the pool and spending hours talking and laughing and splashing. We couldn’t stop saying, “can you believe we have this?” The marvel of red-tinted mountains, a snowy river, and big horned sheep within view from the pool never, ever, faded.

I remembered date days and special occasions and connecting with Chad at the hot springs. We always left feeling reenergized, even if we were burnt out or house poor or tired of being tired.

I remembered our somber drive through town on Feb 28, 2022, when Chad and I left town for good and I didn’t want to think too hard about what we were losing, only the adventures to come.

Letting myself feel

All of this to say: there in the water, I let myself remember. And feel.

I soaked, simmered, and walked the length of the hot springs over and over. I got out to re-apply sunscreen three times, but still drove back to Grand Junction with more freckles than I started with.

Throughout my solo trip to Colorado, I leaned into the memories. Driving by the house, plucking grass in the park, sipping beer that I missed on draft. In the pool especially, I gave myself some permission to accept two things as true: I could grieve losing this life, while also loving my current one.

No regrets. None. An ache for mountains doesn’t quell desire for the lake.

It was a quick trip and I wished so badly for Chad to be there with me. I especially wanted more time with my parents—it was an odd thing, to be in their house as a guest without them there too.

But it was also the worth-it kind of trip. There were full-bodied thoughts and dynamic realizations. I cuddled pups and hugged my parents. I drove on mountain roads and sang the appropriate songs to do so. By the end, I left with a dash of healing, a slight headache from thinking too hard, and a wistful appreciation of time in the sun.