Flatlander

The temperature outside right now is about 90 degrees, headed for 97. As it has been for nearly all of the last two weeks, the sun is shining brightly with only a whisp of a cloud in the wide, blue sky. The exception to that streak was Sunday, when the high was about 80 and the afternoon saw a couple of downpours and an hour or so of big, fat, scattered rain drops. The puddles evaporated by the time my friends and I finished dinner.

This morning, I tidied up my Airbnb and dropped my trusty Dodge Dart at the rental car lot at the airport. Here at the airport, I chowed down on half an Albuquerque Turkey sandwich (read: avocado, sprouts, tomato, green chile ... and some turkey), and will soon board the first of two planes that will wing me back to the Northeast. Six hours after that flight leaves, I'll land nearly at bedtime in the Eastern time zone, with a solid 40-degree temperature drop.

I have mixed feelings about all of this. In part, that's because I'm fairly exhausted. While I love being in New Mexico, I have crammed six-and-a-half very full days of work, two hurry-up-and-wait days of travel, and six-and-a-half days of visits, meetings, introductions, and adventures into a two-week period. I missed meeting some folks I very much wanted to see. And I trod through places and talked with people I didn't know existed. Despite having the most welcoming and homey Airbnb I could imagine, I was still conscious of being in borrowed space. At ease, but not relaxed.

While I'm eager to get back to my "stuff," my friends-for-a-while-now, my summer plans, and my slightly convoluted schedule of work in progress, I also want to gorge myself on the new experiences, camaraderie, culture, and lessons to be gathered here. And, I now have a whole new set of dominoes to line up, besides the ones that are already in place. 

I've been saying for years now that my life is desperately in need of a change, since it didn't follow the love, marriage, kids, family path that I had always envisioned. Setting out into self-employment was part of that. So was taking my MFA and starting the long and winding road toward authorship. So was the surgery that confirmed I am 99.99% unlikely to have children of my own, even if I eventually find "the guy," as painful as that is to admit. So was last year's round-the-country road trip to sate both research needs and wanderlust. So was this year's rededication to improving and expanding my professional range.

Perhaps the next change is this one. Blending my western roots and my eastern existence in a whole new place where I never thought to be, let alone to feel at home. Here where everyone from acquaintance-friends to an aboriginal maker of storytellers have offered a heartfelt, "I hope you move here!" in parting. Here where park rangers and visitors alike have hollered out dinner suggestions and favorite places. Here where one friend's promised to treat me to breakfast next time, two more are already keeping their eyes out for suitable housing, and another's cooking up plans for movie nights and music.

And where do I stand on this subject?

Inshallah, as my Persian friends might say.

Or, in the vernacular, the good Lord willing and the creek don't rise.