In Paradise Sans Camera

In October 2006, I reached the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. It took seven days of trekking though rain, dirt and dust, while dealing with weather conditions ranging from warm and humid to frigid and windy. Upon reaching the top, I pulled my camera from my pack, ready to take as many pictures as my brick-sized digital camera would allow. It was only after a half an hour on the Roof of Africa that I realized my shutter wasn't opening, seemingly clogged with a week's worth of blowing debris.

Flash forward to October 2009 (well, aaaaalmost October). The shutter on my camera hasn't worked properly for the last three years but it, for all intents and purposes, still did it's job. Not trying to be the typical American consumer, I dealt with it's dysfunction in a hippie-esque (totally a word) statement of sorts. Last week, it finally gave out on me. For GOOD.

While I am happy to finally have a reason to bite the bullet and make a fun techie purchase, the timing of my digital demise is terrible!

I JUST MOVED TO COLORADO!! In the last four days, I have been reunited with a very excited and snuggly dog, driven through Rocky Mountain National Park, over Trail Ridge Road (which, by the way, if you've never done it, DO IT!) to Estes Park. Yesterday in Estes, we saw our first snow. Actually, it was a storm that started with fog, moved into lightning with hail and THEN became snow showers. In addition, the elk are in their fall rut and the bulls are bugling, which I have been fortunate enough to watch from the wrap-around porch of my three bedroom cabin that overlooks Estes! There are winter fire rings. There are Adirondack chairs. There are blue birds that have indescribably bold plumage. There's been great humor in watching my dog very seriously and audibly trying to take on a road-blocking elk from the comfort of the car. There are no words to describe the things I've seen in these few days in the mountains. At least, no words that I can find.

And here I am, with no camera to capture any of it.

I think I've blogged about cameras before. The beauty in NOT having one, in being able to focus attention on being PRESENT in the moment, not trying to capture it. Just enjoy it. And here I am. I seem to be whining about the absence of the pocket-sized digital box. But I'm not. I swear. In fact, this week has caused me to reflect on something entirely different.

A world without pictures.

Today, I am thinking about those who used their words to paint pictures. The writers who in one media or another, be it book, letter or song, have been able to articulate the beauty of a mountain winter. The wonder, the awe, the hardship that some have (many HAD) the ability to convey using only a pen and paper. So, tonight, nestled with my dog in front of a crackling stone fireplace, I am considering you. You the poet, the lyricist. You the novelist and great scribe.

You, who came before the camera and You, the lost.

CH-CH-CH-CHanges

I was recently reminded of this blog's existence (thanks, Matt) and about the therapeutic aspects of writing in any form. So, it is with that in mind, that I return, attempting to be as vulnerable as ever. Yep, even in a public forum.

It has been almost exactly four months since my last post. At that time, I found myself reveling in the beauty of Colorado and struggling to find balance with technology, relationship and nature. So much has changed in these past four months...and so much has stayed the same. The internal struggles of becoming a better person, following dreams and ambitions and the battle for maintaining a sense of self in a culture of chaos live on in my daily life. I imagine they always will. However, the day to day circumstances in which I contemplate these things have just changed dramatically.

My last blog entry was written in the place I will be calling home in a few short days. I was offered a position in Granby, Colorado, which I snatched up immediately. In true form, I actually accepted the job without having even heard what the salary would be. Talk about a leap of faith! (In actuality, I am just not traditionally a very detail-oriented person...even with the occasional BIG detail) This is by far one of, if not the greatest risk I've taken in my life. I have one friend in the small town I'll be residing in. She is incredible and life-giving, but I'm having to trust that a support system will fall into place quickly, before I become either a shut-in or one of those crazy mountain people ...you know the ones.

While I am beyond excited about my new adventure, I am more or less a giant spaghetti bowl of emotions. It is hard to think about leaving the life I have built for myself here in Omaha. I have made wonderful friends, been able to deepen my long-standing relationships and be a presence in both my immediate and extended family. While thinking about this can be overwhelming, I know it is an internal struggle I must have in order to become the better person I was created to be, to make a difference elsewhere. For as often as I claim to be an "adventurer," it is an important reminder that really, all serious daring starts from within.

So, with that...LOOK OUT GRANBY!