So — summer is over. I won’t make empty promises and say I’m going to recap that lovely period (because, honestly, it wasn’t that exciting anyway! I spent nearly all my time lying around, with nothing to do and loving every malaised moment of it).
It is now undeniably fall, and I am halfway through the second semester of my second year of graduate school… and I am struggling to stay afloat. The downside of making progress in your career is that people actually start pressuring you to be productive. And that sucks.
Naturally, because I am stressed out beyond belief and have insane deadlines on the horizon, I’ve decided now is the perfect time to revisit my trip to Denver. If not now, then when, right? (Nobody ever said grad students were smart.)
(Really, though, I’ve been meaning to start documenting life more often. I’m especially inspired by this recent post by a blogger I’ve followed for a long time. I, too, am feeling the siren call of travel. As much as I’ve grown to love Houston [eek! the L-word], I’m acutely, intensely missing being in nature — and that found in the Pacific Northwest, most of all. I miss the salty breezes of the ocean and climbing over the feet of enormous, ancient trees. I miss traipsing through fields of wildflowers, hiking up peak summits, and smelling the fresh air and dirt underneath my shoes. I even miss my daily commutes to my workplace in San Francisco — feeling the fog hit my cheeks as I walked past the many colors of the city: the gray of Ocean Beach, the greenery of Golden Gate Park, the pastel of outer Richmond’s ticky-tacky houses, stacked on top of hills and each other.)
… and, now that I’m thoroughly homesick, I think it’s time to think about another place that pressed all those nature-loving buttons for me. In April, we spontaneously found cheap airfare and, a few weeks later, ourselves in Denver.