I try to be a glass half full person. And for the most part, I try to be patient with those who aren’t. I’ll tell you, friends, that patience is waning.
I’m in the middle of a major work change. The division I work for is going through a transition. Most people were able to keep their jobs, some were offered early retirement, some were given a quiet severance and nice letter of recommendation. There are unhappy people in all three categories. Grumbles can be heard in every row of cubicles, distraught with how these changes have occurred.
If there is one thing we can all agree on it is this: no one is terribly fond of change.
At first, I was also upset. I lost my beloved boss, was sure to lose my beautiful office with the lovely windows and had no idea where I’d land next. For what it’s worth — I still don’t know where I’m landing next, but I do have options. (We all have options.)
It’s at this point in the summer each year when my entire body aches for cooler weather. This year, I’m missing Colorado. The cool, late summer nights full of stars, warm afternoon hikes that leave you dizzy from the thin mountain air, and those mornings that require a light sweatshirt for a dog walk.
What I have at the moment is this: hot, too hot, and WE ARE DYING IT IS SO HOT.
It is entirely impractical to consider moving back to Colorado. While the career changes leave me open professionally, now I have family here and we are very much desert dwellers. This doesn’t keep me from dreaming of the scenery I once had. I now commute about 30 miles each way, on a good day picking up a coworker to use the carpool lane. This weekend it dawned on me that if I were living in Evergreen, my very favorite place, and likely working in Denver, it would be about 30 miles. The difference is, I don’t have to drive in snow in Phoenix.
And there is little that terrifies me as much as driving when huge snowy flakes build on the windshield.
I wish there was a way to pick up my Arizona life, with this sweet family and my closest friends, and drop us all on the western slope. We’d live in log cabins with river rock fire places, have aspens planted in the front yards and glass greenhouses in the backyards to keep our vegetable gardens going past season. We’d have dinner parties with board games to close the night. We’d snow shoe and hike and river raft and always have a new peak to climb.
So, yes. I’m pining a bit. I know the grass is greener under your feet. But I do miss you Colorado — more so during excessive heat warnings and when everything else is in flux.