A girl and her cat make it Home

I left the hotel in Colorado Springs before the sun came up, making my way across town with the hope to hike a portion of Pikes Peak before I made my way farther south into New Mexico. The day was beautiful, clear and crisp and my lungs heaved against the foreign altitude. Sadly, the road titled the Pikes Peak Highway was closed until 10a.m. A bit too late for a girl with a trek ahead of her. So instead I turned the car around and went to Garden of the Gods, a free public park in Colorado Springs marked by phenomenal rock formations. Jonesy made herself comfortable in the car and I made my way through the park.
I began to sweat, to take deep breaths of mountain air and I began to purge my mind. I admired Balance Rock and began to leave particular memories with every step. "You" weren't here. This was my memory. Nothing about this moment was attached to anyone else. It was mine, a first that only belonged to me. And perhaps Jonesy.

Two hours later I was pulling into the town of Trinidad, Colorado. A border state town, speckled with antique shops and bakeries. Lunch was panini and pie from a locally owned cafe, substantial food to keep me going. I had to get to Los Alamos, New Mexico before the sun set. The drive up the mountain to the tiny town was treacherous even in the summer, and I was severely out of practice. By mid-day I was making my way across the Raton Pass, my car barely making it at nearly 8000 feet. We were speeding along at an unheard of 45 mph when I finally made it to the apex of the drive. It hit me then...
Townes Van Zant sang about this pass, "Snowin on Raton Pass". As we made it over the final hill, New Mexico spread out before us (us being the cat and myself). It was then that I cried.
I pulled the car over and looked to my south. From here I could see where I came from. I could see the Rocky Mountains, littered with lakes of snow along the ridges and the plains spreading to the northeast. To my south the pink and red buttes of New Mexico were beginning to rise up. And I cried. Not out of sadness, not out of regret, but for the "very human" habit of crying when one is happy. Doctor Who has more insight than most of us give the writers credit. To my south lay the next phase of living, to the north the things it was time to leave behind.
I left "him" there, hidden behind the pass, where I would never have to visit him ever again. And I raced south.
An hour and half later I entered the city limits of Santa Fe. The Plaza, the Laboratory of Anthropology, the small cacti along the city streets, and found Radio Free Santa Fe. I sang in my car all the way to Los Alamos.
I spent the evening visiting family and reflecting on the fact that Los Alamos is still, to this day, one of the strangest little towns I have ever experienced. But what would you expect from a place that housed the minds that created, tested, and expanded on nuclear weaponry.
The next day we were racing across New Mexico, I was ready for Arizona. The drive along I40 is one I have done so many, many times that it is dull for me to even relive. But it was gorgeous. The snow began to melt away after Albuquerque and by Gallup it was a bright 65 degrees. By the time the sun was going down I saw the top of the San Fransisco Peaks begin to rise up from the horizon, marking Flagstaff and my own personal history. I thought of stopping in Flag to get a room at the hostel and visit the Monte Vista Hotel but my mind was set on the Phoenix Valley.

By 8:30 I was speeding into Phoenix. Every street was familiar, every interstate exit and blinking billboard familiar. I smiled, looked at Jonesy and said, "well, here we are. Home." She just stared at me.
By 11pm I was having a beer in Tempe.
By the next morning I felt beautiful. But I always feel more beautiful in the desert. I think it is the feeling of being free that really does it. For months I waited and waited and hoped for something to happen, for something to change. However, waiting does not make things happen. Courage, moxy, and a little bit of irresponsibility makes the changes. I know so many people that sit around, miserable, complaining about their lot in life as if they don't have a choice. They settle. They don't do anything. I can't be that way. I can't live like that. And I don't think I could ever be happier.