This isn't all we could be....

Mountain Sound

For the past couple months, I’ve felt like the world is throwing everything it’s got at me. I’ve never been so lost and confused and completely heartbroken, and although I’ve known darkness before, I’ve never faced anything like this. Many I love are lost to me, others are in danger and I have to watch. I’m terrified to move, think, feel, breathe. Back in Tennessee, I felt completely frozen and trapped. 

Distance from places that hold memories I don’t want to face and problems I can’t seem to solve makes more of a difference than I ever thought possible.

The tiny town of Keyport, Washington, is idyllic. Most of you know me to be a city girl, through and through, and that is still true of my personality. But there’s something about the stillness here that doesn’t scare me the way the stillness back home does. I love the mountains in the distance, hazy through the clouds, white snow dripping down the sides. I love the trees, the never-ending green meadows, the yellow Scot’s broom, the sheep– all outside my bedroom window. I’m not incredibly outdoorsy, but this countryside has me pulled in.

When I emailed my great-uncle a few months ago, all I knew was I needed an escape. I needed a month to go somewhere I had never been and pour myself into my writing. I have to admit, I didn’t really expect he would say yes. We’ve only met a few times. I certainly didn’t really expect as warm of a welcome as I received upon my arrival. I assumed I would pay my own way, and figure out public transportation, crashing on a couch or something. My uncle and his family have been beyond generous and kind to me, and they are completely unaware of the circumstances lately.

For the first time in my life, money is not a concern. I have a massive bedroom, a comfortable bed, and the most beautiful bathroom I’ve ever seen. There’s a huge bathtub that has never been used, for which I promptly bought bubble bath and candles for. The shower has glass sliding doors, and the floors are marble, and the sink is enormous with great lighting and plenty of counter space. I’m driving a rented Jeep Liberty with satellite radio. I can fill my days with music and art and reading and writing and exploring. There are coffee shops everywhere, and the water here is pretty. There’s a park I like to sit at by the water and write. I’m determined to create something real here, something that matters. I want my art to matter.

But I think the best part has been getting to know my great-uncle Jim. He’s so kind and smart and has more love in him than most people in the world. I love riding with him and listening to his stories about traveling and life in the Navy. Everyone who knows him adores him, and I’m welcomed simply because I’m with him. He owed me nothing. He didn’t have to do any of this, he could have simply ignored my email. He told me over coffee a couple days ago that I said in my email that I needed to get out, and that was all he needed to know.

I want to do this for someone some day. I don’t know if he will ever know the depth of my gratitude, but I’ll do my damnedest to express it over the next month.

Because for the first time since April 7, the feeling of hope is more than fleeting.