All Roads Lead to Denver

In December of 2024, I stepped into City Lights Bookstore in a small town of Western North Carolina- the corner of the universe I’d called home for the past six years. Though an avid reader, I didn’t know what I was looking for when I walked into the space that smelled of dust, faded paper, and coffee wafting from the cafe one story below. I pet the store cat as I always did and headed straight toward fiction, excited to see what new world might open up to me. I meandered around, weaving down into the stacks of used books, finding nothing that made my heart beat fast. Defeated, I slowly started my trek towards the exit. The stand holding “Staff Picks” hovered by the checkout counter, and a book cover caught my attention. Woman of Light by Kali Fajardo-Anstine. Typically, what the staff read and what I prefer do not align. In this moment, however, something struck me square in the chest. I knew I had to read it. I’d struggled for a long time believing that I was innately, irrevocably dark. Forever doomed to exist within the shadows, never to be seen as someone who carries light within them (though my name means clear light). I’d been working on this belief for some time. Drudging through my own shadow realm, moving out the cords and density and false belief systems that had imbedded themselves into my essence. At that time, I was becoming a woman of light, slowly but surely. So, yes, this book struck me. It seemed to whisper “let me walk with you as you become.” So I purchased it, drove home to my basement apartment, and started reading. Maybe a chapter in, I started feeling something. A pull to somewhere else. I didn’t want to be pulled somewhere else, I wanted to remain firmly rooted in the rainforest of Western North Carolina. So I put the book down and didn’t return to it for several months.

As fate would have it, a few months later, I found myself packing up my Subaru to drive across the country to New Mexico. My mother wasn’t doing well, and my dad and little brother needed help. She’d been sick for some time, simultaneously healing from a foot injury- all of this piled on an already fragile emotional landscape. I prepared myself in every way I could: writing out recipes for meals I would cook that would support her health, exercise plans, massage schedules, meditation and energetic work to help move a lot of the gunk that she’s carried around for as long as I’ve known her. I also laid out all of the books I wanted to bring with me. At the time, I’d recently purchased books about Inanna, Sekhmet, and Mary Magdalene. I couldn’t read these books in the living room of my family’s home, as they are staunchly Southern Baptist and would likely burn them. So I searched my shelves for something palatable that could be read outside of my bedroom. Woman of Light it was.

During my two month stay in my family’s home in Tijeras, I found myself drawn to the western way of life. The dry air, the sweeping landscapes, and the stiff winds that would sweep you off your feet in the afternoons. I started reading more of Woman of Light, as it ended up being picked as my book club read by one of the members. I picked up a book in Cloudcroft that, on the cover, stated was by a local author and was about the area. Both books, as it was, took place in Denver. Denver, Denver, Denver. My family had recently driven up to Denver to purchase a new car. One of my favorite DJ groups, Polo & Pan, were playing at Red Rocks just as I was meant to pack up and drive back east. For the entire 24 hour drive back to Western North Carolina, I couldn’t get a city I’d never been to out of my mind- Denver.

About a month in to being back home in WNC, I was feeling extremely fidgety. All the lakes, the hikes, the rivers and streams that had always brought me peace and clarity felt uneasy. It felt hard to breathe. My skin felt like it was being stretch by bones too big for it. I didn’t know what was happening. In late May, my now-fiance and I were driving to East Tennessee to go white water rafting with our friends. We drove through ‘The Gorge’- the place we met, the place we’d both lived and worked for several years, the place that essentially broke us down and forced us to rebuild twenty miles outside of it. Halfway through that 8 mile stretch of lush forest, I freaked out. I looked at my fiance and said ‘I don’t think I belong here anymore. I think it’s time to move.’ This was an insane thing to say, as we often talked about how this area was forever home, we’d scroll on Zillow and had even gone and looked at a house or two for sale, with the intention of settling permanently in the area. He was slightly taken aback, but didn’t shut it down in full. We spent the rest of the drive to the Ocoee talking about buying a camper van, traveling around until we found a place in America we wanted to settle in. Taos, Santa Fe, the Pacific North West were a few of the contenders. After that, not much was said on the topic of moving.

The following two months held a lot of chaos and a lot of beauty. In June, we attended the ill-fated 2025 Bonnaroo. Arriving back at our house at 4 am on what should have been the biggest day of the festival, defeated doesn’t even cover it. We’d purchased tickets as soon as they’d gone on sale, we’d planned for months with my fiance’s brother and sister-in-law. We bought all the things, set up a vibey campsite, and were ready to have a damn good time. It all fell apart. We tried to go camping a few weeks later and a massive lightning storm rolled through, so we got back in the car and went back home. For about a two week time period, I was undergoing severe psychic attacks. I plummeted into the underworld, battling off all of the dark shit that was being sent my way. My mental health suffered, to say the least. There was a night that I dropped in and was met with the most vile energy I’d ever encountered- my fiance was out of town, I didn’t think I was going to make it out alive. (I did, clearly). When he came home, he saw how broken and exhausted I was. So we tried to go camping again, as we often go through a massive cleansing process when we do, and got completely rained out. So we went to a lake, swam around, until lightening struck a ridgeline close to us and we boogied home. That night, exhausted and defeated, we laid some blankets out on our porch, lit some candles, and star-gazed. Heat lighting was roaring in the distant sky, comets were streaking across the star-studded night, and he asked me to marry him. He didn’t have a ring, it wasn’t planned, and everything was perfect. A few weeks later, we celebrated with his family at a lake house in Virginia. We rested. A family friend of mine lost their battle to cancer. I grieved. We came back home, and it felt like we were in the doldrums. One step forward, two steps back. My bones still feeling as though they were going to tear through my skin at any moment.

A friend that lived in Charleston announced she was moving across the country to Denver, where her boyfriend lived. A friend that already lived in Denver reached out to my fiance about running a 50 mile race in Leadville the following summer. A fellow massage therapist kept talking about how much she missed living in Steamboat. Another massage therapist joined the team, having just moved from Colorado. The West- Colorado, specifically- was all I could think about. The only time I’d been was in 7th grade. I went with my family and two other families, to Leadville to ski. I’d met someone in the bar I worked at in 2018 who’d lived in Leadville. When I told her I’d been there, she gave me the strangest look and said ‘You’re gonna be back. Maybe not Leadville, but I know you’re gonna go back out there. I think it’s where you belong.’ At the time, I didn’t give much credence to it. Now it’s all I could think about.

Here’s the thing: My fiance wanted to go to college in Boulder. That didn’t work out. He ended up going to VCU, moving to Western North Carolina, and pretty much staying there until now. Save for a blip in which he almost moved to Denver in 2021 with someone he was dating. That, clearly, didn’t work out either. In all of our talks about moving out west, Colorado et al never seemed like an option, given the amount of times it didn’t work out for my fiance in the past. But there it was- over, and over, and over again. So in late August, I got a call from my little brother. He was living in Tijeras with my parents, didn’t love his job, and was considering a career shift. As he was explaining how he might have to move for the new job, I asked what the top three spots were he might be landing. Charlotte, Phoenix, and Denver. I almost dropped my phone. As soon as I hung up, I looked at my fiance and said ‘I think we’re supposed to move to Denver.’ ‘I think we are, too,’ he said. Our lease was up in 7 weeks. We were planning our wedding in Asheville for the following fall. None of it made sense. All of it sounded crazy. We’re just going to up and move in the middle of all of this? I’d never been to Denver. We had nothing lined up. I work from home for the most part but am also a massage therapist. Could I just transfer my license to Colorado? Can we even afford to live in a city? (Turns out, we were paying just about the same amount of rent in one of the poorest counties in North Carolina as we are now living in Denver.) So many questions, a lot of feeling crazy, and a whole lot of excitement. So we called our parents and told them we were moving to Denver. Everything happened really quickly after that. I told the resort I was private contracting massage work for that I was moving. I asked Spirit to remove anything from my path that I didn’t need to bring with me to Colorado, anything that would slow the process down. Everything fell away. We sold all of our belongings- anything that wouldn’t fit in my Subaru Crosstrek and my fiance’s Toyota Tacoma. Our parents met for the first time, we planned the wedding to take place in Asheville, and on October 27th, we drove away from the place that had been home for almost a decade.

We took our time driving out west, as we’d already planned to spend Thanksgiving with my fiance’s family in Virginia. We holed up in a beach house in Ocean City, MD for three weeks. Writing, meditating, sitting with the ocean and all of her otherworldly wisdom. We spent a week in Winchester, VA, with my fiance’s family. Then we made the 26+ hour drive in two and a half days, landing at my parent’s house in Tijeras, NM. The drive was insane. Bad weather, bad traffic all around. We were exhausted and definitely a bit ungrounded, so we took a few days in Tijeras to settle before we began looking for apartments. New Mexico is a strange and beautiful place. I spent most of my childhood winters out there- and, several years ago, found out that’s where I was conceived (strange conversation, to be sure). During these few days, I kept asking myself ‘Is this actually where we’re supposed to be? Santa Fe or Taos maybe, rather than Denver?’ A lot of resistance and fear was coming up for me, you see. Is it insane to move to a city I’d never been to, especially after living in a tiny Appalachian mountain town of 2,000 people for 8 years? Is it insane to move to a city my fiance almost moved to for a girl he was dating, a manipulative relationship that ended horribly? No. I kept getting a ‘no’ to all of these questions. Go to Denver, Go to Denver, You’ll See. Spirit kept telling me. So we booked in five apartment viewings and drove up the 6 hours to Denver. We arrived in the evening, 10 days before Christmas. There were so many lights, the energy felt electric, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to drive into a place on the map before. My heart was beating out of my chest, my eyes wide and a stupid grin was plastered over my entire face. Home.

We looked at so many apartments, ended up moving into the very first one we toured. We’re surrounded by life- so much LIFE. We’ve made new friends, we’ve connected with old ones. I’ve led in person events, found a beautifully aligned space to practice massage. Spencer has started playing soccer again. We can walk to an organic grocer. We go chill in the hottub at the end of the day. We go backpacking, hiking, snowboarding, camping. We go to shows and try foods from all over the world. We laugh. We cry. We dance together in our apartment that is full of light. We’re happy. We’re safe. We’re home.