In the end it all comes around again.

Nelson Mandela once said ‘There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.’ I am finding out some of the hard truths about that statement as TJ and I return to Colorado and properly being to explore our new life.

Mandela was remarkably accurate in his assessment. Our initial trip to Colorado Springs with Jess was great fun, revisiting old haunts and re-finding the beauty of the place. Then we went back to visit with my dad whilst Jess and her SO were there, and then came back finally to Colorado, at first going to Pueblo, then up to Colorado Springs. I had lived in Colorado Springs for many years before I met TJ, and we lived there for some time afterwards as well. My, how things have changed.

When I arrived in Colorado Springs in 1993 I lived on the south side of town. At the time it was perhaps a bit on the lower income side of things, but a perfectly nice and safe place to live. In 2025, it has become … scary, I guess is the best word for it. Extremely run-down, lots of dodgy characters walking around, security guards for the fucking laundromat, and that kind of general atmosphere of despair. It was eye-opening at least, and an affirmation that we probably don’t want to settle in a larger city, assuming we do in fact settle someplace.

More to the points has been the past few days. From the Springs we went south to Walsenburg, a fairly small town on the I-25 highway corridor from Denver into New Mexico. While there was still a certain amount of creeping decay there (many closed shops and a few scary-looking abandoned houses), there were also signs of growth and an effort to make it work. My previous memories of it were mostly confined to the sort of dying small town that is increasingly common across the USA. While I’m not sure I’d want to live right in the heart of Walsenburg, the area actually has a whole lot more potential than I thought it did, and a really kind RV mechanic who sorted out our two electrical problems in about half an hour. Then we headed into the San Luis Valley.

Warning for TLDR - there is a lot of context I need to offer for the final bits of this babble to make sense. In 1991, I got married to my first partner, a wonderful woman who I am still friends with. I was also reconnecting with my dad for the first time since childhood, having spent most of my youth with my stepfather and mother instead. My dad asked to come to the wedding, and I agreed. As a wedding gift, my dad give me five acres of land in the San Luis Valley, free and clear, provided I paired the ridiculously minimal property taxes on it henceforth. It was so exciting being landowners (properly in the gentry now), and so my partner and I made plans to go visit the land as soon as possible. In the summer of 1992 we came over the La Veta Pass, and saw the mountains and the scrub oak, and then as we went further and further it turned into prairie and high desert plateau, and when we finally located the plot of land (not easy given that most of the ‘roads’ had no markers, and in some cases were approaching non-existence) my reaction was it was 5 acres of tumbleweeds and mosquitoes. Dreams shattered, fantasy of living the landed life gone, all that. Perhaps a year or two later, we sold the land for way, way less than it was worth (but a lot of money for a couple who had been fiscally struggling for most of the marriage).

TLDR summary - I was given an amazing gift of land, and I sold it away for the metaphorical equivalent of a bowl of soup.

Now, to today. TJ and I drove over the La Veta Pass (it was beautiful) and down through the mountains into the little town of Fort Garland, got some supplies there and marvelled at how much the town had grown since either of us had visited it. At this moment, we are parked not too far from the land I sold in the shadow of Mount Blanca, looking across the grandeur of the San Luis Valley, surrounded by mountains capped with snow after the recent storm. It’s still prairie land mostly, and tumbleweeds, but I see it differently now, and tonight I’m really reflecting on the cost of that insight.

Yes, I have changed. Some of those changes are very good, and some are tinted with sadness and regret. There are many things I would undo in the past if I could, mostly things that hurt other people and still wake me up at 3am with a vicious thought cycle. But getting rid of that land (yes, it hurt my dad that I did it and for so little) was one of the things that I realise really hurt me, too. I could not see what was right in front of me (as is so often the case) and I now truly wish I had those 5 acres as a basecamp to work from right now. So, Mr Mandela, you are indeed right. I’m back around to where a major life-change started, and I see it so differently now, older, frazzled, damaged, sadder, possibly wiser, though of that last bit I am not yet convinced.