It was around this time five years ago when I learned I would be traveling west to live and teach in the desert for two years. While I had little say as to where my master’s program would place me, I was able to indicate some semblance of a geographic preference. Subsisting squarely in the world of all things country music and having a deep fascination for the south after Cam and I had recently visited Charleston, I was 110% convinced that my only logical placement was somewhere in the Southeast.
Anywhere but the Southwest, I thought. Nothing about that lifestyle appeals to me.
With this mentality, perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised when the program director called my name followed by a city that was stationed decidedly near the bottom of my “wish list.”
Tucson.
Man makes plans, and God laughs.
Arizona? That couldn’t be right. I requested Florida. Or Tennessee. Not Arizona. I remember leaving with Cam as soon as the placement ceremony had concluded feeling like everything in my world had just been upended. Arizona was not easily drivable to my family in Chicago, it was nearly equally far from where Cam would be (he had been placed in Oklahoma City as part of the same program), and, according to my ill-informed preconceived notions of desert life, it was a vast barren wasteland that blistered in the unrelenting sun, utterly devoid of life. As soon as we got to Cam’s dorm room I cried and cried thinking that this was all some big mistake, that this simply couldn’t be how things were supposed to work out.
Never have I been so wrong.
Those two years in Tucson were eye opening, challenging, and, at times, fraught with layers of tension and conflict. But they were also formative, inspiring, and liberating in the most beautiful of ways. Looking back now, three years removed from my time out west, I can’t help but reminisce fondly on my experiences and laugh at my naive reaction to perhaps what has been one of the most influential opportunities of my life thus far.
My time in Tucson continues to influence me in countless ways. For one, I find myself attracted to all things cactus and desert-related. From cactus notepads to Mexican tiles I use as coasters to the various Arizonan art[1] I have strategically placed throughout our apartment to bring unexpected pops of color and beauty, I am forever shaped by my time in the desert[2].
Inspired by my experiences and feeling a similar pull west, last spring my parents and I crafted a thrilling—if unconventional—tour of “bucket list worthy” parts of Arizona we hadn’t yet seen. Our itinerary took us to Sedona, Page, Kayenta, and Petrified Forest National Park. Near Page we were drawn to the beauty of Horseshoe Bend but the impossible feat of nature that is Antelope Canyon rendered us absolutely speechless. The impressive formations of Monument Valley made us feel like actors in an old western, and, on a very different film-related note, we had an opportunity to recreate the famous scene in Forest Gump when Forest stops his legendary cross-country run. We even found ourselves “standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona,” which, I have to say, was “such a fine sight to see.” There was even a girl—“my lord!”—in a “flatbed Ford” that graced the quaintly commemorative corner made famous by Jackson Browne and the Eagles. In all, it was an adventure-packed whirlwind week, one that prompted us to only more deeply appreciate Arizona’s enchanting beauty.
Perhaps most significantly, several of the bonds I solidified while living in Tucson have blossomed into what I can only expect will be lifelong friendships. Something unexpected happens when you place eight very different people from very different backgrounds in a house and instruct them to coexist and even thrive as a functional family-styled unit. Like all facets of life, this approach doesn’t always work the way it may have been intended, but it is sure to foster self awareness and growth in unimaginable ways. When we exist with others in an exposed state of raw discomfort, we cannot help but band together and form solid (if imperfect), lasting connections. I will forever thank Tucson for this.
Last January I visited one of my former housemates, Carolyn, in the midst of her last several months of living in Arizona. While I was only in town for a long weekend, Carolyn and I had a blast revisiting our favorite restaurants, hiking tried and true trails, and reminiscing with good friends, margaritas in hand, in the open-air courtyard of Mercado de San Agustin.
Carolyn had to work on my last morning in town, but she lent me her car to drive the stone’s throw to Saguaro East National Park. While I didn’t have time to hike before heading to the airport, something powerful and unnamable drew me to the park, and I decided to drive its perimeter loop. Windows rolled down, Zac Brown Band blasting, I was nearly the only car in the park, and I drove with slow appreciation as I stopped to admire every towering cactus, every scampering critter, and every awe-inspiring mountain vista. I don’t know if it was the music, the views, or the memories, but something in that moment made the hair on the backs of my arms stand on edge. Suddenly I felt my eyes begin to water with the profound beauty of it all, and I was filled with an overwhelming humility and appreciation for everything my life was, is, and will continue to be. I will never forget that moment, and, sensing this would be the case, I even circled the park twice with the hopes of teasing the moment to last just a little longer as Zac Brown Band crooned, “Just as free. Free as we’ll ever be.”
Free indeed.
Our fears bind us. Our decisions to embark on opportunities liberate us in humbling ways. Life is a mystery, and very rarely do we understand these logistics in the moment. However, if we allow ourselves to let go, to step outside our comfort zones and be surprised by life’s twists and turns, then growth is imminent and anything is possible. Possibility abounds in the space where fear and doubt intersect, and I will forever be grateful that I decided to steel my nerve and embark on a foreign—albeit borderline terrifying—beautiful adventure in the wild wild west.
Beauty doesn’t lie in the eye of the beholder as much as it lies in the ability for that beholder to reconstitute the initial perception of what is beautiful. This experience challenged me and reshaped my perspective forever. I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for those invigorating starry nights, resplendent mountain views, breathtaking desert sands, and infinite Arizona sky.
Nothing is more freeing than that.
[1] Shout out to Santa Theresa Tile Works, Diana Madaras, Ken (of Ken’s Tours in Antelope Canyon), and Carolyn Keefe. Your artwork teems with the unparalleled vivacity of the west and inspires joy on a daily basis.
[2] Missing the warm desert sun in the midst of our cold Minnesota winter, I even purchased an agave plant during a recent Target run. While I’m typically not fond of fake plants, this agave is so impossibly authentic that it even feels like the real thing, and I smile every time I see it. Way to go, Target!
Oh hey der! Like my mittens? I found these down in Arizona dontcha know.
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