Between Home and the Mountains
I am sitting in the final days of my Colorado trip, and if I’m being completely honest, I don’t quite know how to put words to everything I’m feeling.
What I do know is that my heart feels full.
And heavy.
And grateful.
And uncertain.
All at the same time.
For most of my life, I have been someone who wanted answers. I wanted clarity. I wanted a plan. I wanted to know exactly what came next so I could prepare for it, control it, or work toward it.
But this season has been asking something different of me.
It has been asking me to simply feel.
As my time here comes to an end, part of me is so ready to go home. I miss my husband. I miss my dogs. I miss my routines. I miss the familiarity of my own bed, my favorite coffee mug, and the little rhythms that make up everyday life.
There is something comforting about home. Something sacred about the people, places, and routines that know you so well.
And yet, another part of me is grieving the thought of leaving.
Because this place has given me something I didn’t realize I needed.
Space.
Not just physical space, although there has certainly been plenty of that. Endless skies. Mountain ranges that seem to stretch forever. Quiet mornings. Cool evenings. Trails that invite you to slow down and pay attention.
But emotional space, too.
Mental space.
Soul space.
Somewhere between the mountain drives, the moments spent sitting in silence, the adventures with family, and the countless hours simply looking out at scenery that still doesn’t seem real, I noticed something happening inside of me.
I started to soften.
The constant noise in my mind got quieter.
The pressure I’ve been carrying began to loosen its grip.
My nervous system finally exhaled.
I don’t know if it’s the mountains.
I don’t know if it’s being away from my some of my normal responsibilities.
I don’t know if it’s the cooler weather, the slower pace, or simply being in a season of life where I’m finally willing to listen.
Maybe it’s all of it.
What I do know is that nature has been teaching me something.
Nature doesn’t rush.
The mountains aren’t worried about where they’re supposed to be next year.
The wildflowers aren’t questioning whether they’re blooming correctly.
The clouds don’t force themselves into a specific shape.
Everything simply becomes what it was created to be.
And maybe that’s the lesson I’ve needed.
Because if I’m honest, I have spent so much of my life trying to force answers.
Trying to figure out the future.
Trying to create certainty where none exists.
Trying to think my way through feelings that were asking to be felt instead.
Lately, I’ve realized that not every season requires a decision.
Not every question requires an immediate answer.
Not every crossroads requires a map.
Sometimes we are simply meant to sit in the space between what was and what will be.
To let ourselves feel the gratitude without rushing past it.
To acknowledge the sadness without trying to fix it.
To allow uncertainty without turning it into a problem.
And that’s where I find myself today.
In between.
Not fully here.
Not fully there.
Not quite sure what the future holds.
Not quite sure what comes next.
But strangely okay with that.
I’ve cried more than once during this trip.
Not because anything is wrong.
But because something is shifting.
There are seasons in life when growth feels exciting and obvious.
And there are seasons when growth feels quiet.
Subtle.
Almost invisible.
The kind of growth that happens beneath the surface before anyone else can see it.
I think that’s where I am right now.
There are questions I don’t have answers to.
Dreams that are still unfolding.
Possibilities that I haven’t fully explored.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to force a conclusion.
I can simply acknowledge that something within me has changed.
That the woman who arrived here a few weeks ago is not exactly the same woman who will board the plane home.
The mountains didn’t give me answers.
They gave me something better.
They reminded me that life isn’t always meant to be solved.
Sometimes it’s meant to be experienced.
Sometimes it’s meant to be felt.
Sometimes it’s meant to be trusted.
As I prepare to head home, I am carrying more than souvenirs and photographs.
I am carrying a deeper appreciation for stillness.
A deeper respect for nature.
A deeper trust in myself.
And a reminder that maybe I don’t need to know exactly where I’m going to enjoy the view from where I am.
For now, that feels like enough.
And maybe that’s the lesson.
Maybe peace isn’t found when we finally have all the answers.
Maybe peace is found when we stop demanding them.
❤️
What season are you in right now? Are you in a season of clarity, growth, uncertainty, rest, or becoming? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.