That's how long we've lived in Colorado. Six years. Not long in the big scheme of things, but long enough to make a difference.
And this little hippie, mountain view town is all my kids have known. They were two and four when we arrived. They learned to ride their bikes here. Made friends. Started school. Had too many Halloweens and birthdays and Christmas trees for any of us to bother tallying. And all of a sudden, six years isn't near long enough. There's still so much yet to see and do and love.
In my adult life, I've lived in Texas, Hawaii, Virginia, and Colorado. All beautiful places in their own right. Colorado was different. Colorado felt like home. I could settle here. Grow old here. But... Is it Colorado or the fact I've had six years to integrate, connect, fall in love? After all, it wasn't just my kids who grew here. I discovered my passion for writing. Stumbled upon the magic that snow sparkles like a million crystals and glows like daylight at night. I've been within feet of families of deer. Found my favorite coffee shops and book stores. Parks. Running routes. I endured and overcame a head injury. If it was only the time spent here and not the place, I'm grateful just the same.
So, we move on. To Vermont.
And, I plea to all that is good and right in the world that I never have to have another conversation like we had last night. Telling our girls we were leaving is, by far, one of the hardest things I've ever had to experience. Those tears were real. All our tears were. We cried for the unknown. For loss. For Colorado.
Soon after, though, there were smiles and what ifs and little wisps of hope and intrigue for the adventure to come.
So, here's to the journey. To possibility. To new love. To finding home.