Yeah, I Could Live Here

On the power of choice and the melancholy of decision.

As always, it’s been a whirlwind few weeks. I’m pretty sure I’ll be saying that for the rest of my life.

Since my last post, there’s been a whole new foster dog that’s come and gone – our sweet little Jack Jack, who’s goofy personality stole the hearts of pretty much everyone. We only had him for five days before he got adopted, but he made us laugh every second of every day he was here. It’s no surprise he got adopted so quickly – he was an incredible dog. House trained, crate trained, dog friendly, people friendly, with a funny attitude to boot.

He now lives in Connecticut with his parents who are head over heels in love with him. They lost their senior rescue in February, and new it was time to open their hearts again. Here’s the kicker – their previous dog had been adopted the week after Halloween, and that’s when they brought Jack home too.

Work has also been busy, but so great! I have a lot of exciting things coming up that I can’t wait to tell you about, so stay tuned.

Also, in the least shocking news of the week… I’m picking up foster #10 on Monday. Here’s your hint: I try to NEVER foster puppies (for obvious reasons) but this one looks like a dog we all know and love, and I couldn’t say no ;)

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A few weeks ago, I went on a trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming with my boyfriend. Despite living in New York City for over a decade, I’m actually a pretty outdoorsy person. I grew up being dragged on weekly hikes with my dad, and then eventually spent three summers near Yosemite as a counselor at an outdoor adventure camp.

I have always been centered by nature, drawn to it. But the life I’ve chosen doesn’t offer much room for hikes and camping and gazing at the stars.

We chose a trip to Jackson specifically for the nature. Neither of us had ever been to that area of the country before, and we liked the idea of knocking off two national parks – Grand Tetons and Yellowstone. We flew into Salt Lake City and began the four hour drive up to Wyoming, eyes wide at the alien landscape around us.

Once we got to Jackson we dropped our bags at the cheapest hotel in a 50-mile radius and trekked into town to find a glass of wine. After a few minutes we could feel our shoulders loosen and our minds clear, the long day of travel slowly lifting off our shoulders. We walked into a bustling downtown filled with shops, restaurants, four enormous arches made of antlers and, in the not-so-far distance – stunning mountain ranges, glowing bright in the end of day sun, the fall foliage watercolored across. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

I uttered the words I say nearly every time I travel somewhere new:

Yeah, I could live here.

Vacations are funny in that way. You’re taken by the back of your shirt like a claw machine game and dropped in the middle of a community that’s totally new and foreign. Everything seems exciting – the people you have yet to meet, the food you have yet to try, the places you have yet to go. You pull out your phone and immediately search Zillow listings, trying to imagine where you might buy your groceries or which dentist you’d go to. The fantasy is exhilarating.

It’s also bittersweet.

I sat at a wine bar in Jackson, surrounded by skiers and hikers and people who live in the mountains. I sat at a wine bar in Jackson, dreaming of what my life could be like if I also lived in the mountains. I sat at a wine bar in Jackson, knowing that my real life, the life I’ve chosen, was a million miles away. And my life is wonderful but also so painfully different, and what might it look like if I had chosen different?

I chose New York. I chose New York when I was 20-years-old and I never strayed, wearing my loyalty like a badge of honor. But I’d be lying if I said I never wondered what if. There are a million ways in which a life can go.

That’s the power of choice, and the melancholy of decision.