August 14th-16th 2014
“I’m sorry…but…I’m not going to be there.”
He told me. In a way that was incredibly sincere.
“I just…I can’t make it, Olive. And I wish there was something I could do.”
The situation was this:
It was March 2014 and I bought an airplane ticket entirely too far in advance. “I’m coming to see you!” I told Tanner. “I’m coming to see you in Denver, and it’s going to be great.”
Fast forward >>
5 months later.
And that’s when he told me.
“I’m sorry…but…I’m not going to be there. I just…I can’t make it, Olive. And I wish there was something I could do.”
His reasons made entirely too much sense. And despite his one week notice. I was intrigued as to what I would do next.
But only because.
1. I had nowhere to say.
2. No one to see.
3. Not a clue what to do.
Should I cancel my flight?
Blame it on others?
A vintage friend originating from the deep depths of high school.
High school Bobby moved to Denver, Colorado after this college endeavors…consequently making him the perfect qualifier for one of my most random phone calls yet.
And despite a 6 year communication hiatus and the overwhelming request to crash for 3 days and 4 nights at a moment’s notice.
Bobby said yes.
And adventure was officially back in session.
And the next thing I knew, I was on a plane.
>>> Colorado bound. >>>
And completely unsure of what to expect. I had never been before. Explored before. Or given much thought to it—really. But the strangest part was. As soon as I landed.
I had never felt so
Not just because of the compromised Gummy Bears purchased along the way…
The serene scenery
The executive (drunken) decision to make Bobby to download Mulan at 1am to play a coordinating drinking game:
Eating a Cinnamon Roll pancake at a restaurant called Snooze that could only be described as a life-altering experience on a glorious, glorious plate
Or lounging in the hot springs thousands of miles in the air.
It was the people.
All of them. And I met quite a few. Like. A hippie at the Red Rocks Amphitheater. Self-named “Chef Jeremy” Selling jewelry, and the motto, “Everyone in this world should play a little more. We don’t play enough. And there’s just too many reasons why we should.”
The neighboring set of couples next to us, who invited us to join them for cheese and wine because “they had extra, and if you have extra, you damn well better share.” They were each married. Had kids. And told us they were taking a night off tonight for this concert. Just one. Just so they wouldn’t forget “what feels right.”
My friend Luke we roadtripped to see in Buena Vista for an impromptu adventure. Where he told us he drove 2 1/2 hours to get there every weekend. Just to see his friends. Because it was the best use of his time. And he just really cared.
Or the other couple we met in the mountains. And spent six hours with, reveling in a hot spring abyss, asking who they were and where they were from.
“I’m Tori and this is Bobby,” the girl told me. (To which I internally named him Bobby #2.) They were nomads, you see. Sometimes lived in Mexico, sometimes in the mountains and every once in a while Oregon and Arizona too.
And they were thinking about heading a town over in the winter. But. Until then, camping out felt like home and the bare necessities were completely enough. Stability would be nice, maybe a real kitchen too, but actually? This life was perfectly fine. And perfectly preferred. Living out of a truck full of really simple stuff.
And being satisfied with just that.
And I guess I kind of loved their life. And how it was a physical reminder that:
You don’t need a lot of things to feel like you have everything.
And of course, Bobby. An old friend who seamlessly updated into a new one instantaneously. Without question. Without complaint. And a great attitude in both life, and fun.
Initiating badass pub-crawls in comic book tees with mimosas that perfectly paired with our super hero habits—just as example number one.
So cheers, Colorado, and the kickass people who live in it.
For making me realize that the reason I felt so . (Sans the gummy bears, and the elevation). Was because the people I met, and the place I was in, made it impossible to ever really feel