Dear Ouray -- I just love you

So, 18 months ago we embarked on our adventure living in Ouray, Colorado. We ripped our kids way from people they loved on a chance that we were making the right choice for our family. The kids got 6 amazing weeks with cousins before we got to CO, and then we landed. Hard. No friends. No family. Just Ouray.

While Quinn fell in love with her fiends and teacher in about 13 minutes, I worried about me making friends. And I started a long journey of worrying about McKenna. But even with McKenna's depression -- when all is said and done, we fell in love quickly in Ouray. Not right away, but quickly. One of my most favorite memories of that first month was the elementary school play, Dear Edwina. I loved the play. I loved the message. I loved the local kids. Fell in love with each one. And I loved this one song about a shy little girl who wasn't sure she'd make friends. It made me bawl during the show, and after we bought the album, I cried EVERYTIME I heard it. Hola, Lola, Hello. It has been at least a year since I listened to that album with the kids.

Well, tonight I turned on a mix of the few show tunes we own and that song came on. It took me a minute to realize exactly what I was hearing and why I was getting so emotional. I finally just sat down in the kitchen and bawled. I cried with gratitude for how wonderful our Ouray family is. I cried for my Utah friends. I cried for my shy kids. I cried for my friendless, unborn baby. I cried for the heat that I hate here. I cried for my hot springs and talks with dear friends. And I cried that I can't always share my pain or my joy because it is not always appropriate.

My mom told me a long time ago that her sister moved to Oregon a few decades ago for a few years. The whole time she was there, she acted like it was awesome. She talked about friends, and she found -- or at least acted like she found -- the joy there. Years later, she told my mom that living there was horrible.

I constantly feel the paradox of being like my Aunt Peggy OR being perfectly honest with my feelings. I see the value in both approaches. I totally see the strength in "fake it til you make it" -- especially in a new place. And seeking the good in a new place has a ton of virtue. But when I am being the real me -- I am not sure I can do it, and feeling like I should do it brings a lot of guilt and shame.

I've said before that I never know what I am doing, and I am not sure what real happiness looks like or even real success. It's not a new dilemma. But it is still a real one: The balance between being honest and being real (sometimes at the drain of those around you). It's tough.

I try to be strong for my kids. I want baby Charlie to know this is a safe and peaceful place to be born. I want to value the friends I have already made. I want this place to a haven for my kids. I want it to be home.

But it's not. For now, I hate it. That's just the truth. It sucks, and the only thing it feeds me is the knowledge that I had more than I ever needed (except money, of course) in Colorado or in our old cabin in Utah.

And with that -- on a good note -- I also have the knowledge that when me and my man decide on a dream place to live -- we get it right. Also, we are happy without money, and we like to know everyone around us. We like community. We like Coloradans. We like time together more than time apart. We love dry air and tall mountains. We are growing up and growing together.

That's what I know ... So far. I'll keep trying. But it might be through lonely, longing tears. That's just me. I hope that's enough for my kids. I hope they learn to feel peace in mom's honesty. I hope I learn to find peace in their mom's honesty.

See, Charlie, I'm honest and fun. Come play with me, Love.