Today marks a year since I moved back to Denver. The reasons for my return were varied, but suffice it to say, I was unhappy. Returning didn’t immediately solve my woes either. I cried driving around town alone in my car. I was unemployed for a while. I felt like I had given up and failed.
Slowly I began to realize that even though I had given up some things, I’d been blessed with others. It would not be an overstatement to say that my friends here saved me. They brought me back into their everyday lives, took me for drinks, made me dinners, let me just sit on their couches in my sweatpants without saying anything.
I got a job and a new routine and soon enough could afford haircuts and Starbucks. I built myself back up with the support of my community, and the wounds I’d left New York with mostly healed. I was able to repair my most important relationship, and he and I left fear behind as we set out on the adventure of our lives.
Back from that time of total freedom and exploration, I’m spending more time being intentional about how I want to live and what I want from life, and I hope that in another year those intentions will have become reality.