Today is a good day. It is a day when I feel like a writer. Or, more specifically, I feel like an author. Today in Colorado Springs, CO, Pilgrimage Magazine is having a Release Party celebration for their newest issue. Volume 37, Issue 1; in which I have an essay. Today I feel like an author because I was asked to show up there and read.
Unfortunately, I will not be able to visit Colorado Springs on this day, but I am utter grateful for the invitation to do so. When I think about Colorado, I think about the place that inspired my essay to begin with. Hovenweep National Monument.
I went there as a fluke thirteen years ago, after I had finished hiking the Appalachian Trail. I was struggling with reentry into the "regular world," and while staying at my parent's house got a call from Jim at Hovenweep. He had my info through the Student Conservation Association application I had put in a year previously, and wondered if I wanted to come work in Nowheresville CO. I didn't, really, but I had nothing better to do. So I went.
And thus ensued one of the most poignant times in my life, part of which this essay is about. A time that I can be nothing but grateful for. A time of new friends, and a connection to the desert. A time of solitude and of learning. A time that I could write whole volumes on myself.
I am utterly grateful to have been given the opportunity to publish my first essay in Pilgrimage. You can't find this magazine on local shelves here in the East, but you can find the introduction by Guest Editor Juan Morales at the Pilgrimage website. You can also subscribe online and get this current issue, and future ones, mailed to your doorstep. The Release Party information is up on their Facebook Page, and I strongly urge you to go if you are in the area.
Today, I am grateful. And I very much hope that next time I am lucky enough to get a piece published in Pilgrimage, I will be able to get back to Colorado to read a little, party a little, and slip on back into the quiet of that little Monument in the desert that touched my heart.