A Retrospective

I sympathize with my fellow bloggers in their homeless plight... I am indeed finally permanent, yet I am still living as a seasonal. Awesome. I'm living on government credit cards and off the goodwill of my friend Barb, who has graciously taken in me, Jon, and the three dogs. Actually, this is somewhat by choice, as Mammoth Lakes is rather expensive and I am very much looking forward to going back to Colorado. I have been fortunate and scammed a shared position with Black Canyon. There were several things driving my decision to leave one of the sweetest backcountry skiing areas in the country to go to Western Colorado for the winter. One was that damn toe and all those torn ligaments associated with it leading to an uncertain ski season. It's still purple. Wear shoes. Seriously. Another was my need for a change of scenery. To be diplomatic, sometimes the human scenery is the most important to change. (See above comment about leaving the sweetest backcountry skiing area ever.) Possibly the most important was the need to go back to a place that I love so much when I finally have someone to enjoy it with. Sounds corny, huh? Having never been a particularly outwardly emotional touchy feely person, I agree. Corny. But in my dealings with friends and colleagues of late, I have, I believe, finally come to terms with my wanderings. I am a "grass is greener" kind of person. I am ALWAYS looking for jobs. This was supposed to be my dream job. I spent 9 weeks in seasonal LE academy hell trying to find the greener grass. I left the Tetons. Who does that? Who leaves the Tetons? For Nevada. Seriously. Again. This week I am at a conference with some of the most creative and helpful people in the entirety of the National Park Service. I am learning how to be better at my job- how to reach out and make my passion for these places relevant to others. It is challenging to sit and be inspired by so many people who are doing such good work and still feel this overwhelming need to move, to go elsewhere and do other things, knowing that deep down inside your place is better for having you there and you have good work to do there. Here's the thing... and it's something I should have learned from my parents (who have lived in Alabama, Indiana, and Ohio- all places that in my book kind of suck)... It is only partially about where I am, for I am strongly connected to place, but more about who is there. I moved to Nevada because my people were there. Although it was a difficult winter, I laughed more than I cried thanks to those people. This winter I am very much looking forward to experiencing Black Canyon and the entirety of Southern Colorado, both places that I have come to regard as the places that feel most like home of anywhere I have ever lived, with someone else for the first time. I would say that I will have people there, though that is not quite true as I will have a person and three dogs. In the last three years, I have spent a lot of time looking for greener grass. It started my 2nd summer in the Tetons on a hike with two very good friends and one very slobbery dog up to the top of Jackson Peak. I was contemplating a GS-4 job in a less than desirable place trying to find some sort of direction- some missing element. In my search, I agonized over the adoption of a three legged dog that, as it turns out, has changed my life and oddly enough, made me a better person. That's right... my dog made me a better person. I've come to terms with that. I have changed careers three times. I have called four states and four different parks home. I have come to terms with the idea of killing another human being for the greater good of society. I then learned to shoot a gun. I helped save peoples lives and found a passion for it. I did junior ranger programs with three year olds and realized that I love that too. All of these thing were done in the most beautiful places on earth. And yet, I was always looking for something else. In retrospect, these all seem to me to be the choices of someone who is searching for something that they are not going to get from their job. I have one of the most fulfilling jobs in the world, and I can't get it all from my job. That is perhaps the biggest lesson that all of this has taught me. And it took another person wandering into my life and becoming a part of it to make me realize that, although we may all still look for greener grass, no shade of green will bring any of us the joy of sharing our lawns, whether green or brown, with our people, whoever they may be.