Everybody Has a First Time

I’ll always remember my first time in Denver.

I was nineteen when I embarked upon my first travel adventure, flying solo from my home in Florence, South Carolina to a wedding in Denver, Colorado. One stop in Chicago, and I was across the Mississippi River and into high desert air.

I was nineteen when I embarked upon my first travel adventure, flying solo from my home in Florence, South Carolina to a wedding in Denver, Colorado. One stop in Chicago, and I was across the Mississippi River and into high desert air.

I don’t recall whether I rented a car, but I was intimidated by narrow city streets, packs of cars, and density. We knocked and bumped through town for a whirlwind of dinners and rehearsals, ceremonies and receptions, and I came away from Colorado with a poor taste. I didn’t like Denver very much.

Fast forward to 2018.

I don’t know how many times I’ve visited Denver since my first underwhelming foray, but I’m here now, typing away in a basement flat near downtown, listening to my hosts party upstairs, digesting some of the best sushi ever, and basking in the glow of time spent with dear friends.

I have nine more Denver appearances this week.

The trees are red and yellow, orange and pink. They preen and flame in front of a wall of snow-capped mountains and clear sky. While I may be darting from here to there, I’m grateful.

• Grateful for time spent with one of my oldest, dearest friends.
• Thankful for the chance to visit a magical, colorful fall show.
• Honored to be welcomed by enough groups to be freaking out by how much I have to do.
• Pleased with the reception I had last week in the Pacific Northwest.
• Keenly aware of what it means to be able to see the beauty and color and texture of this vivid, vibrant world.

Take time to savor what’s in front of you today.

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