In Praise of Small Radiuses

Why would I want to leave this?

Friday night, I was racing my mountain bike through red rock desert with a group of friends high above the Colorado River, watching a nearly full moon rise up above the canyon on the wings of a bald eagle who lifted like one great feather on a hundred-foot thermal.

By Saturday afternoon, I was sitting in stalled traffic on an eight-lane highway outside of D.C. for a mandatory work trip.

^^^Tell me which of these locations seems more likely to make me a productive, creative employee. I'll wait.

Despite the fact that this was a staff retreat focused on building “hope” and “resilience,” my mood was abysmal. My despair started as I waved goodbye to the startlingly yellow cottonwoods dangling over the Colorado River on the way to the Grand Junction airport and only plummeted further as I lay in the sterile sheets of the D.C. hotel room, digesting my disappointing dinner of an extremely mediocre, extremely overpriced Caesar salad.

The truth is, I hate traveling. And if an airport is involved, I WILL be a whiny little baby about the whole thing. I will not be at peace as my flights are delayed and cancelled, as a child screams next to me for five hours, as my hips ache from being cramped in a tiny airplane seat for too long, as someone obviously sick with the plague coughs directly into the single cubic inch of air I’ve been allotted for the duration of the flight.

I will tolerate a flight here and there under a couple of hours if it means I get to do something amazing. But you’ll notice I have not taken the leap to more extensive flights and travel to places like Indonesia or Japan. I am certain I cannot mentally endure it (at least, not without some serious pharmaceuticals).

The thing is, I have built a tasty little life for myself, in a place I love with such a deep conviction, that most travel—especially if it involves the hell that is flying—isn’t particularly additive to my life.

Making my morning chai in my boob mug

Most mornings at home, I make myself a delicious hot beverage in the quiet darkness of my kitchen while watching the buns eat their breakfast. I read books and articles as I sip, curled up under the fleece blanket on the corner of the couch. Maybe I watch the resident neighborhood herd of deer nibbling grass, or the hummingbirds buzzing around the feeder.

By the afternoon, I might be headed to a workout class at my gym, which is filled with friends, where I get to move my body and socialize for a while. From there, I might go ride my horse, where I’ll inevitably see more friends and continue to be held by my sweet, local community. Or maybe it’s an evening mountain bike ride through some of the most disgustingly beautiful public lands with—you guessed it!—more friends. Or maybe it’s attending a pottery class at the studio down the street. Or a writing workshop with the local writers’ group. Or cooking a gorgeous dinner with J and watching our little comedy shows before bopping into my office to work on a watercolor painting while listening to an audiobook.

Within a few hours’ drive of town, I can go rafting, skiing, mountain biking, hot springing, camping, romping with friends, and otherwise adventuring. With very few exception,s these activities are available to me 365 days a year. Except for diving, I can do just about everything I want to do in beautiful, scenic places, right near home.

Which is to say, most days at home, I will have slept well, fed myself well, spent time with animals, adventured outdoors, practiced some form of art and writing, consumed literature, deepened my community, and joyously moved my body. And I fit all of that in around a full time job.

^^^In which of these locations do you think I am coziest and my best self?

Most days while traveling however (especially for work), I muscle through bad hotel sleep and the exhaustion of airport travel, struggle to find nutritious food, fail to move my body at the rate and intensity I move it at home, spend 99% of the day indoors, and feel so mentally and physically crappy that I can’t hold any space for art, music, or culture of any kind (let alone thoughtful, creative work). Not to mention the days of my life lost in airport transit as flights get delayed and canceled. Also, the stress and lack of sleep usually destroy my immune system and I’m sick within a few days of wrapping up a trip, which means I lose another week of my life post-travel.

Airport travel drains me in a way nothing else can.

Getting home from D.C. last week turned into a nightmare as flying always seems to nowadays. My flight out of DCA was delayed by two hours for a mechanical issue, meaning I missed my connection in Dallas on the last flight for the night to Grand Junction. The 8am flight the following morning was full. The 3pm flight they could put me on standby and see what would happen. And if all else failed they could bop me on the 7pm flight, though, with the government shutdown, they were already delaying and canceling flights to and from Colorado. The thought of getting stuck in Dallas and not getting home for another 1-2 days sent my anxiety through the roof, so I asked them to put me on the next flight to Denver. By 10:30pm, I was at least back in Colorado. It took another two hours to get a rental car and by then I didn’t think it was safe for me to drive the four hours over the mountains in the dark to get back to Grand Junction. By 1:15am, I was checked into yet another hotel and by 6am the following morning I was sobbing behind the wheel of the rental car. 24 hours after arriving at the D.C. airport, I was home.

I am exhausted on a cosmic level.

Finally back home with my favorite lil guy

It was hard over the last week not to mentally tally the days of my life given up for the sake of “traveling.” I lost one day just preparing to be gone for a week. Another day for travel to D.C. I missed a week of workouts at my gym. I missed my pottery class. I missed an equestrian event I really wanted to go to with my friends. Because traveling for work means you don’t get your mornings or evenings, I didn’t get anything written for my writing group all week and failed to get something out on time for this newsletter. I lost another two days attempting to get back to Colorado, missed an appointment for Tex, and got charged for rescheduling a doctor’s appointment I was supposed to be back in time for.

The silver lining, I suppose, is the sudden outpouring of gratitude I have for the life I’ve built. How gorgeous that all my needs are met right here in Grand Junction. How sweet that my house is so lovely and filled with beautiful things that make me happy. What a fantastic feeling of wanting to stay put.

No more planes for a while. I’m having great fun right here at home.