Seldom Right, Never in Doubt

I come from stubborn people on both sides. It's a running joke that the Lockman family motto is "Seldom right, never in doubt." My favorite story of familial stubbornness comes from my mother's side. My late grandfather once researched and wrote a book about Pocahontas and her descendents just to prove my grandmother's assertion that she was related to Pocahontas wrong. The book is kind of a snore, but the hardheadedness that I've been raised amongst is all there.

It's a miracle that my parents got married as I imagine it would be hard for two people from such stubborn stock to admit that they wanted to try to spend the rest of their lives together. In fact, they dated for 10 years before it happened. And hardheadedness definitely did not skip me. I spent much of my solo cross-country road trip being lost because I was sure I knew where I was going. I hated asking for help in college until it was too late. I don't mind being bad at things, but I don't want suggestions on how to get better. I just want to struggle until I find my own way. So it's no surprise that it has been difficult to admit to myself and to others that I'm worried that I've made a huge mistake in my post-college life.
 
The truth of the matter is, I don't really love Colorado. It's not like Oberlin or Eastern Kentucky or Chicago where I took to it immediately. It's been a lot of struggling with sunburn, suburban living, and the fact that I can't drink more than one beer without getting silly because of the altitude. I'm having a somewhat rough transition, and I'm not someone who that happens to. I can make friends with just about everybody, go with the flow, and find my place pretty quickly. Maybe it's the weird combination of college students, homeless people and yuppies, my lack of interest in smoking the legalized marijuana or even the fact that I work remotely and don't have an instant community of people that I know. It could be that I'm far from home or just moved away from a place that was, for better or worse, home base for 5 years. Maybe it's because I didn't get paid until mid-August for work I've been doing all summer. Or it could be that this is just not the place for me, in the same way that New York or the Philadelphia suburbs are not the place for me. Whatever it is, it's been hard for me to even say that I'm not quite as enchanted by Boulder as most of the people around me seem to be. I mean, I'm terrified of rock climbing and I'd just as soon drink a Miller High Life as something from a local brewery.

 My time in Boulder has by no means been terrible. I've reconnected with some old friends, made some new ones, have a wonderful cat and a great little house in a cute neighborhood. I'm in the best shape that I've been since high school and have been doing many of the things I love. But it's as my wise mother who gave me half of my stubborn genes told me, "If I went to heaven I'd probably hate it for the first year." These things take time and my stubbornness is coated with impatience. If it's sink or swim I try to fly and I usually succeed. And it's hard to admit that maybe I'm really sucking at living in a town.

So I guess this is just to say that I'm doing okay, but am a little sad and confused and may or may not have actually gone to a palmist for life advice a few weeks ago. I don't think this is really special or different from anything anyone else feels when they move to a new place or make major life transitions. Luckily I'm not alone. Between old friends who I want to spend all my time with, a roommate who gets that sometimes you just need to be a cat lady, another rural transplant and appreciator of pop music who understands that sometimes you just need to be snarky, an Oberlin friend who is a force of positivity in my world and a cat who likes to sit on my arms while I type, I've got the companionship necessary to make it through the winter. I'll work this rough patch out. I'm too hardheaded not to.