Postcards From Dirt

Category: Places I’ve Loved

  • Take the Risk

    Take the Risk

    I was 23 the summer I fell in love.

    We had summer jobs at a resort in one of the most spectacular places I’ve ever seen. Towering mountains, shimmering lakes, wildflower meadows that stretched forever. We lived right there, surrounded by all of it, and soaked in the kind of freedom and possibility that only exist when you’re young and your whole life is in front of you.

    He was kind. Smart. Funny. And he made me believe in myself again. That summer, he made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worthy. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until it happened. And I fell in love.

    But I never told him.

    I was terrified of rejection and I believed it was inevitable. I thought saying the words would ruin the connection we had. So I stayed silent. And when the season ended, I let him drive away—without me, without asking him to stay, without asking him to take me with him.

    I thought I was protecting my heart. But by letting fear decide, I guaranteed that it would be broken.

    That summer changed my life. 

    We grew up. Lived our lives. Built families.

    As my children grew, I made sure to pass along something I wish I’d understood back then:

    • Take the risk
    • Say how you feel
    • Love out loud  

    Because if you live in fear of rejection, you guarantee the regret.

    I don’t know that if we met today it would be the same. We’re different people now. I don’t wish I could find him to see if something is still there.

    In fact, I think that might ruin the memories I’ve carried all these years, the dreams of what might have been.

    I’ll never know. And maybe that’s the most bittersweet part of all.

  • Waypoint

    Waypoint

    On the drive from the Salt Lake City airport to my aunt’s house in Soda Springs Idaho, I spent a lot of time
    reflecting on all of the times I have used her house as a stopover when I was on a journey. When I was going to college in Billings Montana and my family lived in Arizona and Nevada, my brother Darren and I would drive my little Mazda pickup with Apollo and Lobo (my cat and dog). We made the trip every summer and Christmas break and would stop there on the way to where we were going, and on the way back. 

    I got married and my husband Jack started joining me on my trips, then my daughter Jordan came along and we moved to Nevada and our trips became less frequent. Then Jack got sick and we didn’t make the trip for a few years and when they started again, it was just me and my girls on our
    way to our summer vacation. In 2017 I made the trip for the last time with Jack on my way to Montana with his ashes. 

    I have stood on the edge of my aunt’s lawn and taken so many photos of this valley over the years; in the spring when
    everything is green and fresh and the sun is warm but the breeze is chilly, the air is sweet with the smell of alfalfa and you know summer is just around the corner; in the summer when the fields are amber and the combines are at work
    (as they are now); in the fall when the leaves are falling, the grass is brown and the smell of wood smoke is in the air; and in the winter when the valley is blanketed in snow and everything is still.

    Now my girls are grown and this summer I won’t have a vacation with them. Carsyn is working and living at my favorite vacation destination and Jordan’s work schedule didn’t allow her to join us when we went to the Tetons a few weeks ago. But they have begun their own journeys, using my aunt’s house as their stopover on their way to new adventures. I am so happy they are travelers and always on the lookout for something adventurous to do. I am also a little sad many of those adventures don’t include me, but I have my own to plan.