The Day the Snow Spat Me Out, Smiling

Is it merely coincidence that when we finally moved back west it seemed so easy to find our people? There was so little strain and reflexivity and internalization and judgment. Was it just chance? It couldn’t be just chance.

Maybe the stars just aligned, but I have to believe there is a method to this madness, that there is some energy in this half of the country that resonates at the same rhythm as our souls and those of like-minded individuals. Sometimes it feels like maybe we all migrated here looking for each other. It feels sweet and right and like I belong to believe that, so I will.

There is bliss to be had in a posse. And magic to behold in watching one coalesce. What started as a dinner with strangers – all nerves and optimism and loose connections – has turned into cabin nights and chili potlucks, snowy adventures and pumpkin carving and Frisbee and pizza. Low and behold we’ve started to scheme together, not satiated by one night or one adventure and excitedly scheming another. It feels so good.

I am exhausted. Bone tired. I’ve studied hard and played harder and now it’s Sunday night and I’m tired just thinking of what the week has in store. With four papers on my plate and two exams on my radar, the past six days have been a delicate balance of rest and rigor. And then today, to top it all of, we played really hard. We threw ourselves up a mountain and got spit out by the snow. And then we returned to the car hours and miles later soaked to the bone and smiling. Together. Side by side, half asleep but dreaming up business plans and weekend parties. Together.

I don’t know where I belong yet. I haven’t a clue where or to whom I belong. Then again maybe I have a better idea than most, but on this long detour back home I am wildly grateful to find myself surrounded by my people. That doesn’t just happen in anywhere and I refuse to chuck it up to chance.