Rocky Mountain High

It's been awhile, I know. The world does not stop spinning during these transition times, doesn't wait until I'm ready to begin the next phase, so I just keep moving with it. In the month and a half since I've been back in the US, I haven't been in any one place more than 11 days at a time. A blur of family,

friends,

love.


Of hello-goodbyes,


unpacking and repacking,


driving from one life into another into another.


Telling myself these feelings of ungroundedness come from being physically rather than emotionally homeless. It worked out pretty well, really, never giving me enough time to fall out of the honeymoon phase of adjusting to one place before I was off to another.


And now I'm here. Denver, Colorado. My fifth day in my new home. I have key and a bed and an address to put on my résumé. Five fabulous housemates, four bicycles, three bedrooms, two hammock chairs, and one treehouse in a crabapple tree.


And it's my night to make supper, so I'm off to explore one of many local Asian markets to make a Cambodian meal in our lime-green kitchen.

And I am happy.