My Stream of Consciousness in Flagstaff
53: here with my family for their annual escape from the heat to honor the USA
(written July 4-5th)
As a citizen of the dusty valley that is the Phoenix area, I walk around Flagstaff shocked but happy. I can walk outside without feeling like a cute, little cookie going into the oven. There are trees encouraging me to take deeper breaths. A slight breeze teaches me that sweat is actually helpful. I can easily find shaded, aesthetically-pleasing seating areas. I feel motivated to relax.
Large almond-shaped leaves flowing from a potted plant on a bookshelf hug an old, brick wall. The white, tiled ceilings clash wonderfully with the natural elements in the modern cabin space. I smile, realizing that Zach and I’s original vision for our wedding included the worn brick of the city in which we fell deepest in love.
I don’t know if it’s the Mexican mocha I got from Late to the Train or the live music performance echoing from the town square in the distance, but I wish I could sink into the world that is Northern Arizona. I imagine living in this slow, small-town community once again. I envy the eclectic writers typing away as Passion Pit plays softly in the background.
Small businesses create items that spark conversation, with intention and a distinct human feel that Target cannot replicate if it tried (and it has). A woman in her mid-thirties with a septum piercing seems genuinely happy that I am interested in her art. I see people with detailed tattoos walking with their families— dressed in ways that don’t hint at a certain gender— laughing and just being. The general feeling is inclusive. I feel safe here.
Yes, of course, it is 4th of July. It’s impossible to escape “Let’s Go Brandon” t-shirts amidst the red, white, and blue. But for every flag pledging allegiance to the loud orange man, I see a large rainbow flag in a shop window. For every eerie red cap, I see the words “all are welcome” written on shop doors in bold and in every color. I walk through my favorite bookstore with a multicolored bracelet and a red, starred shirt declaring “Stars, Stripes, & Reproductive Rights!” I sway to the music while I purchase books and, as always, consider more strawberry-themed clothing purchases. Shame does not find me.
The clouds shroud the sun and I mentally thank them for their efforts. My best friend makes me laugh after I tearfully confess the hardships of my current life struggles. We savor the welcoming ramen smell of SoSoBa and bid goodbye to the cobblestone. As we leave, the golden yellow and navy blue of my old college university brings a comforting feeling. I steal a long, last look at the first home I ever made for myself as we drive the Ponderosa-lined freeway back to our cabin in Munds.
Though fairly close to Flagstaff, Munds Park offers a type of solitude that feels essential to my re-aligning with myself and with God. Last night, we could easily spot constellations from the back of my grandpa’s pickup truck. The cool breeze sifted through our window last night, seemingly suggesting Oakley, Zach, and I snuggle closer. Waking up to my mom’s crinkle-eyed laugh and my dad kissing me on the top of my head while hot breakfast is prepared is one of my favorite childhood memories. All of my official and unofficial family members take turns watching the children, allowing us mothers to nap, to read, or to journal. I’m so thankful for the support and Oakley loves more friends.
My family’s cabin is a spiritual place to me. Though, I must confess, I am haunted by a fear of finding myself separated from it, knowing that losing the cabin will mean losing a part of my heart. As an adoptee, I think the family history here at the cabin is invaluable. I am planning to write a post specifically dedicated to its history at some point. I would love for more people to know about the history of the cabin and have a chance to support my family’s continued ownership of the cabin, which my dad’s family built around 40 years ago.
As we passed the Motel in the Pines and the park of my childhood, I feel a sense of calm and safety. I see families riding bikes and walking dogs, grilling and drinking. I am sneaking a peek at their future family photo albums. We drive the fairly new, paved, private road to the rickety gates of the cabin. The lake is almost spilling over and the geese and the frogs could not be happier. There’s no place like this for me in the world.
In the evening, Oakley eats almost an entire hotdog and eats a chunk of watermelon with an impressive passion. The sun is starting to hide behind the trees. My feet are ready to rest. I notice how much the wood sealer on the porch is in need of a refresh as my dad sits in his father’s old chair. Oakley’s Papi looks bigger and sturdier than my sweet Papa did, but they share the same closed-lip smile and rough authenticity.
…
I fear the coming months, like a winter I have not yet prepared for. If I wordlessly sit in the uncertainty for too long, it swirls in my stomach and paralyzes me. So, I continue to seek solace in sharing my experience with others, who I can only hope will give me a hug, tell me that it sounds difficult, and/or text me every so often to check in. I love being checked in on, so I know I have not been forgotten.
This morning, I feel groggy. We stayed up late laughing too hard at our family’s attempts at Pictionary. And because we always want nights like these to last forever, Zach pulled out his guitar and I my ukulele around eleven until our audience’s snores were louder than the music. As per usual, Oakley sprang up out of bed the next morning and Zach graciously gave me some time to myself. I listen to the birds outside my window and I feel like Cinderella. Time to start another day. With new books to read and more stories to share, I continue forward, relying on the Holy Spirit to guide me.
I don’t know where we’ll end up after the storm finally settles or how long the storm will rage on, but I have this persistent belief that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. My anxiety gives me every possible negative outcome, but I choose to believe in the good. Maybe that’s actually what makes me an optimist: being face-to-face with fear and uncertainty and still wanting to choose hope every time.
❤️
🌻ART SHOW & TELL🌻
I made lots of art I am unable to share quite yet, but this game is going to get my creative juices flowing for sure!
Time for some TLCCC💕
Treating myself to: time to read. My new pastor gave me an extremely helpful book about my current faith deconstruction journey. I bought a fiction novel for the first time in a while, as well as a children’s book that made me cry in the store and a card game I can play every day by myself or with others to make my day better.
Listening to: Against my will, too much country. But I have also been listening to so much worship music.
Crafting: I stayed up late before leaving for the cabin working on something…
Craving: more time to read, honestly. I am LOVING these books. But also mac and cheese.
Caring SO much about: Healing. Relaxing. THERAPY.