Defining Movement: Miss USA...and Other Amazing Places

Today's blog post is just a little reflection on some of the scenes, smells, items and encounters here that cause me to remember or think back on some of the small (or not so small), everyday things (or most important things in the world) that exist in other places I've lived.

Scent of brewed coffee - I am currently sipping on a cup of caffeine brewed with beans that have arrived all the way from Durango Joe's in Farmington, NM, where Mackenzie was working as a barrista (it was one of the gifts in the bag the siblings brought with them). When I open the bag of coarse-ground beans, the aroma intoxicates me and I fly back to cold mornings playing hearts in the café with the family, trying to hear each other over the scream of the espresso machine's grinder, planning out all the events of the upcoming weekend and day. I think of dad mixing bags of beans in the kitchen at home before setting them in the percolator, searching for the perfect ratio to arrive at that optimal flavor and we prepare to all sit down for breakfast before the day's activities begin. There is the earthy, wooden smell of a morning at Uncle Paul and Aunt Mary Ann's house, or maybe a late afternoon or just-before-dusk, sinking into the sofa, listening to the crackle of the wood in the fireplace, talking about all the things that merit being talked about but oftentimes are set aside and forgotten by the world. I remember what it was like to walk into a coffee shop and have a huge spread of countries and choices, have a bunch of adjectives and promises that neither myself nor my taste buds could ever truly understand, but would tell ourselves we would one day.

Winter Olympics - The closest anyone in Metoro will ever get to competing in a winter sport is buying and consuming an ice cream cone. Many won't even get that, since you have to go to a different city that has ice cream cones in the first place. However, the Olympics (I follow along via the news and some reruns online) bring me back to the magic of the world coming together to compete. Country vs. country. Passion. Pride. A healthy amount of patriotism, but not the kind that would ever get in the way of sharing a beer or a meal with someone. The thrill of watching the world's most extreme athletes competing in ways that demonstrate just how far we can push our bodies if we really give ourselves permission. Exploring all this with friends and family. Becoming inspired to grab some winter gear and begin training...in Colorado...because New Mexico doesn't really have snow.

Nalgene water bottle - look at all the stickers. I think back on where I got them all. Durango Outdoor Exchange. Boxing Bear Brewery. Peace Corps. Backpacker. Chaco Canyon. Durango Joe's. Each one tells a small story or offers a window into a specific place. I also remember trying to figure out the best plan of attack for stickering my water bottle, conferring with Mackenzie and Liza before beginning the process of plastering them on.

My poetry book - Patrick and I have logged hundreds of hours during the day, night and every time in between writing and sharing our verses. For over a decade. On three (almost four) continents. Countless bookstores. The meaningful, old kind, where you walk in and can smell all of the stories before you read them and you know that the books have had just as exciting of a life as you, if not more so. Numerous cafés. The exciting, unknown kind that you walk into as a wanderer and try to make your own, to enter the energy and buzz of the place, to take everything you can from it to bring with you when you go. Buses, cars and airplanes. Hotels, hostels and tents. Oceans and forests, but most importantly the deserts. Deserts in Prague, in Nicaragua, in Albuquerque, in Cabo Delgado. Deserts that sometimes we simply walk through and other times know they are home. Or we make them home. Writing is always water, flowing from the deepest parts of us. These notebooks take me back to everywhere at once as I slowly fill them up, each poem a melding of every memory before it.

REPEL insect repellent - sometimes its called "deep woods" and I imagine what it would be like deep in the woods doing some of the things I haven't had a chance to do yet, like hiking the Appalachian or summitting some of Colorado's 14ers. I think back on some of the amazing hikes I have been able to do: Mount Washington, The Traverse, Telescope Peak. I remember how amazing my family is when it comes to the outdoors and encouraging us to camp, hike and explore. To adventure. To find our own way. I think of how much I miss the wilderness that is so accessible there in the U.S. and hope that the people I know and love there are taking advantage of it. I also look back to a world where name brands actually exists and are not simply apples and Nike swooshes sewn into whatever article of clothing that might be lacking.

Books - I close my eyes and transport back to my library. To shelves full of knowledge and possibility and everything I could every want to know or not want to know or maybe never even know was something knowable. Possibilities. Histories. Ideas. Movements. Emotions. Ways to remember what it is like to be alive and ways to live without ever having left your chair. Books grow us and carry me daily to myriad locations far away from here. I also think of the sorrow of the situation for so many here where I live, in a place where education and books are not accessible, nor on one's mind. I become somber at the thought that so few here could ever share my passion for reading, when their primary daily goals center on feeding themselves and trying to find a way to lead a more comfortable life.

Neighbors coming to chat with you on your porch - I think back on summers in Verdigre, Nebraska and the beautiful, entrapping sense of community found in such a small town. I remember the conversations on front porches as you take a break from your walk across town to step into the shade for a second because it's so hot and humid that you are already sweating rivers. Neighbors look out for each other, notice each other, talk to each other and have a genuine feeling that we are all in this together, come rain or shine.

Burning charcoal on my outside stove - I inhale Prague on a bitter winter morning the first time I ever visited in 2012; by the second inhale I already knew that this was indeed a land I belonged to and would never be able to truly escape. Instantly comfortable in the cold, overcast haze, I listened to Robert as he told me that many people still burn coal here; it's just a lot cheaper. Smelling the coal burning in the streets as we walked through the market: grilled sausage and whole pigs rotating on a spit. Coal. So overwhelming and so welcoming, spiraling up into the brilliant white winter sky. Now, in Metoro, it's much warmer and accompanied by much less food, but the smell of coal will always bring me right back.

Well, that's a long enough list for now, but suffice to say there are SO many small triggers that bring me back to other lives I have lead. Coconuts to Nicaragua. Red wine to Würzburg. Spicy food or homemade tortillas to New Mexico. I am so lucky to have such a wealth of experiences in my fount to draw from and, far from being a way of escaping the moment or the difficulties of present situations I find myself in, these memories serve as energizers and catalysts, boosting my soul and giving me the strength to thrive within and better appreciate my current home and any of the challenges that might accompany it.