How do you come back to a project you abandoned?
That is the question I’ve been asking myself as I try to draft my first blog in a long time here.
Hi. How are you? It’s been a while.
This year got away from me. There were so many amazing moments, but I’d be lying if I said this year didn’t have its challenges too. My business was thriving, my family was well, and my friendships were growing. But my physical health? It took a different path this year. And that’s been hard.
Hard to deal with, hard to diagnose, hard to discuss.
It’s incredibly personal. My symptoms are not for discussion at dinner tables. Frankly, it’s not something I want to discuss with most people. But it is something that has taken up a lot of my time, energy, and mental space.
When my to-do list gets too heavy, things fall off. Writing here was one of the first things I let go of last year. I made a good effort in the first half of the year, and completely walked away from it in the second. It is what it needed to be.
I’ve watched business projects pick up steam that I let go because I did not have the energy. I had bright ideas that faded in the face of my limited capacity. I’ve watched my body change beyond my desire or control. I was away from this site for so long, my auto-login no longer worked!
Still, it’s not been all bad, and just because I’ve been quiet on here does not mean things haven’t been good, overall, because they are.
I love being stationary. I love living in a house. I love the indoor plumbing that runs through my walls and floors, and the septic tank that sits in my backyard. I love my steam shower and big pantry, and hosting holidays in my kitchen. I love harvesting fruit from the trees in my yard. I love the Mesa trail that winds away from my neighborhood in a little loop and the familiar roads of this small town.
I don’t love living two and a half hours away from a good airport, but I do love the way the sunsets paint the mountain purple in the evening. I love the way it glows, illuminated and cartoonish in its brilliance, against the fading blue sky. I love the frost in the mornings and the sun all day. I love the little library and my friend’s condo, where I write for many hours, for business and pleasure.
I love being here.
It is hard being so far away from where I grew up, the state and the coast where so many of my loved ones live. But every time I round that sharp highway corner and the steep walls of the canyon fall away, and the mesa spreads out before me, the mountain rising in the distance, my heart sings.
It is hard being so far away and being so poorly. But inside these adobe walls with my husband, I want for nothing. Isn’t that amazing to say? Even when I am sat on the cold tile floor with my head hung over the porcelain throne, thinking of Sam Harris talking about the inevitability of pain. Even when that is my reality, I want for nothing in the moment, because of him. (My husband, not Sam Harris.)
I have been very, very fortunate in many ways this year, despite and including my physical health. I moved to a state where self-supported health insurance was possible before this started. I had a comfortable space to rest and recover in. I did not have to drive when I did not feel well. I was able to get the tests I needed done in a timely and affordable manner. That is no small feat in the healthcare system of the United States.
Many things went well professionally, too, including acceptance in two anthologies, one about traveling on the road, set to be published in 2026, and one about cannabis, in 2027. The magazine put out its best set of issues yet, 5 publications I am truly proud of helping create. I spoke on a panel at MJBiz Con this year, and contributed to my retirement account every month. I was accepted to a two-week artistic residency in New Mexico.
I feel better now, physically, than I did 12 months ago. But it was a long year to get here. It required a lot from me. I stumbled more than once in managing it all. I missed deadlines and flaked on plans. I aim to be someone who keeps my word, always and it hurts when I did not. As I’m sure anyone with some kind of chronic pain can relate to, it can be hard to balance truly giving your body the rest it needs without feeling lazy, like you’re using it as a crutch.
Or maybe that’s just me, who knows?
The past few years have felt like a whirlwind. I spent only one Christmas in the van; this will be my second in Taos. I look forward to a New Year’s celebration much better than the last one.
To be honest, I don’t know what’s going to become of this blog. I am not done with it, but I struggle to make time for it. I didn’t want to see the year pass without coming back here, but I don’t know where to go next.
I am fiercely protective of my work and building something by and for myself. But most of my reviews live on Fat Nugs these days, and my weeks aren’t filled with blog-worthy adventures these days (unless you care about the latest Taos local I met at the library).
It is, in many ways, a smaller life than living on the road, but I find I like that. I want peace and quiet. A backyard, a warm bed, and a shower that gets boiling hot. To make a compost bed in the spring and summer, to lay it down in the fall, and watch it sink in all winter. I want to recognize the plants in my yard and compare their growth to last year’s.
I wanted to live in a van because I wanted adventure, and I got it, in spades. But now I’m faced with where I go from here, as I sell the van and examine if the tools I’ve used to get here are the tools I need to go farther. Where do I need to spend my time, and where do I need to move away?
That is the question I’m taking into the new year. That is what I will sit with in Abiquiu for two weeks at my writer’s retreat.
I’m feeling very Carrie Bradshaw-esque as I sit here musing over my keyboard, as the sky turns golden and purple and deep blue. Picture me smoking a joint, sitting at my desk with the door cracked, instead of a cigarette out the fire escape. First season Carrie Bradshaw, or maybe second. Nothing after the third season.
It was an easy decision to sell the van. After my trip to Wyoming and Montana, I knew I was done. But when I got back and went to a full moon ritual at my yoga studio with a good friend leading, I sobbed. I cried for nearly the entire class on my mat, lying on my back, looking up a the wooden beams. I couldn’t believe how sad I was!
When class was over, the tears stopped, and haven’t been back. But I knew why I was so sad. I spent years of my life building towards living in a van. It was always in the back of my mind, my driving motivator for many business decisions. I built a life to support van life.
Now, I’m done.
What next?
I don’t know.
I got a tarot reading done last week that said everything will happen in its own time. Coincidence? Divine timing?
I guess that’s up to me.
