and the world spins madly on.

The last couple of days have been... eventful, I suppose. I've been feeling a little "off" for a while now, so I decided that I would take some time to myself this weekend. On Friday night, I asked Liz to suggest a trail or two that I had never hiked before. She mentioned Bear Peak and said it was comparable to Chautauqua, which is where Meg and I hiked back in September. Not too long, not terribly strenuous - it sounded like a lovely way to spend a sunny Saturday by myself. So the next morning, I headed out toward Eldorado Springs, ready for a nice little jaunt and some pretty scenery. Next thing I know, it's four hours later, I'm clambering up an all but vertical slew of rocks with an empty water bottle and approximately 1,000 new fly friends all clearly in love with and plastered all over my dirty, sticky body, and the summit is nowhere in sight. Don't get me wrong, the view from the top was more than worth the blood, sweat and tears (pretty much literally). I'm just glad I had no clue what I was getting myself into. Fast forward a few more hours and I'm sitting on my couch, refusing to move for fear of what my legs might do to me, stuffing my face with Indian food and watching the Netflix that had been sitting on my kitchen counter since before I moved in. Now, it was a bit unfortunate to spend my Saturday night in that fashion. I had run into one of my coworkers on the trail (which was just about the most random encounter I could have possibly had) and we had planned to go up to the mine where one of my managers lives that night, but I simply wasn't moving. And besides, me-time.

Today I had planned to spend some time out by the pool, but it was just too damn hot. Instead, I wrote a few letters to people, skyped with my mom, and got a massage. I can't say the hot stones felt terrific on my sunburned back, but it was mostly wonderful. After making myself a nice dinner, I dropped in on the Kirtan that was going on down the road. Kirtan is something I experienced on a retreat I went on back in January, and I loved it. To me, it's what church should have felt like but never did. Maybe its the 5000-year old Sanskrit, or the collective awareness of everyone in the room, or maybe some combination of the two, but the energy is seriously palpable. It's the tingly, swarming kind of feeling I get from the best of meditations. It's lovely. Two and a half hours passed in a flash, and here I am.

So about that me-time, do I feel any different? Not really. What I'm feeling here is terribly familiar. I've felt it before, and quite frankly that turned out miserably. I have no intention of letting this experience go the same way, but to be honest, it's scaring me a little bit. People keep asking me why I moved here, and my answer is usually something along the lines of "just because" or "why the hell not?". Not that there's anything wrong with either of those reasons. In fact, a lot fellow transplants I've talked to had the same rationale. But I think what I'm up against here is that I changed. I was of one mind when I decided to move, and I was of a different mind when I actually got up the balls to do it. I kept trying to deny it to myself, but the year I spent back in Rhode Island changed me. And now I'm here, expecting to be one person but instead being someone completely different. It isn't about regret; for one reason or another, I'm supposed to be here. I just have to figure out who I want to be.