I’ve got a fella on my mind.
I’m not sure I can be this vulnerable.
But I want to be.
I am holed up in a cabin on a mountain plateau. The wind howls outside. No one around for 100 miles.
Me, my pen and paper, a roaring fire.
For at least a month. Disconnected and removed from everything and everyone.
Just me and my demons.
I will face them, and slay them. And in the end, I will forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made along the way.
This sort of daydream is verging on reality.
I spent the evening watching a Roller Derby and had a blast with a dear friend of mine here in Denver.
What happened, though, as is often the case with this fella, is that we ended up talking about pretty heady stuff, and like a good friend should, he called me on my shit. At every damn turn. At first, it felt odd to have this young man calling me out, but like every other time, I left his house feeling both defeated and renewed. He was and is right about many things, and I have a lot to learn from him.
This, perhaps, is another reason I’m here in Denver.
And this, perhaps, is why he is one of the good people in my life that I cherish.
…I’m going to be teaching again. I’ll also be working on a book, or reviewing a collection of essays. I will not be working this retail job.
I’ll have my plot of land, my dog, and spend summer mornings tending the garden. I’ll be nearly off-grid. I’ll have a simple, pleasant space to call home, with an open invitation to any and all of my friends to visit, stay a while, and catch a break. It will be a space of love, respect, and room to laugh. Nights will be spent by the fireplace in deep winter, or by a campfire at most other times. There will be stories made and told in flickering light.
It will be an honest and sacred existence.
I will have this. One of these days.