Reflections: 2 months, 2 homes and 3 states later.

On June 14 of this year, I hit the road with my daughter and our cats and a 5’x8′ trailer full of our stuff. No lease in hand, no job, just an email confirmation and a temporary address in Boulder, Colorado.

Our journey wasn’t without its share of excitement. When I arrived I had only a vague idea of the layout of the town. Without GoogleMaps I’d never have found my way around. But we settled in, drove around, found the best spots for ice cream, hardware, people watching, etc. In the spirit of outdoor adventures, we went along on a Father’s Day hike with friends at a nearby mountain lake, where I took a spill on a muddy hill and sprained my ankle; fully initiated into the Colorado way of life. Later that week I hobbled into State and County offices to get my new driver’s license and plates, drove up to North Boulder for a job interview, celebrated a rainy birthday in Estes Park with my daughter, and stubbornly attempted to climb 2 different mountain trails in town. My ankle pain came and went, and it became more difficult to conduct normal activities. Four weeks after the injury I was diagnosed with a fractured fibula, and told to refrain from weight-bearing activities altogether. Two weeks after that, I had recovered enough that I was able to pack up the same 5’x8′ trailer and with the help of local movers, I settled in a new home 3 miles to the north.

I’m now on the eighth week of this adventure. The hummingbirds have given us a warm welcome, serenading us daily with their trills and delighting us with their fly-by’s. The hills in the distance instill hope and energy every morning as I look out on this place that I now have the distinct pleasure of calling “home.”

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