Life Elevated

I’ve officially been in Utah for more than two weeks now.

The first morning I woke up here, I happened to peek through the curtains of my hotel window in time to see the sun rise over the mountaintops. As corny as it is to say this, I legitimately shed a tear. I could not believe how beautiful it was. I still cannot get over the views, and I’m not sure I ever will.

The mountains are incredibly mesmerizing. I can see them from my bedroom window, kitchen window, and from any angle while outside. I’ve been in some of the world’s most momentous mountain ranges: the Andes, Himalayas, Swiss Alps, High Atlas, and I’m not sure what it is but the Rocky Mountains might beat every single one of them. Don’t quote me on that because I have yet to go to Colorado, Montana, Idaho, and other surrounding states, but all I can say is I am not disappointed in the slightest.

Coming from Boston, I had a preconceived notion of the word “city”. I’m used to skyscrapers, congested highways, lots of traffic, people out and about, and tightly packed streets. Salt Lake City is nothing like that. It’s only 1/3 of Boston’s population, and the city is 1.4x the square miles. Do the math, and you’re looking at a lot more space with a lot fewer people.   

This is what I love about traveling, though. I had a concrete image of the word “city” in my head, and as soon as I was in a place where that was challenged, the whole idea for me was reframed. Aside from being in a different environment, traveling allows you to look at life in a lens you wouldn’t have normally looked at it through. The word “foreign” creates distance between you and a far away place, but once you travel to a “foreign” area, you’re more apt to accept whatever may be different from your norm.

It may be the smallest things, too. For instance, one time I was served a chocolate quinoa dessert with strawberries, gooseberries, edible flowers, and whipped cream on it while I was in Peru. I had never thought of quinoa as a dessert before then, but it was really good. Something that simple is what I love about traveling to new places— even just different combinations of food is exciting to me.

As for Utah, there are differences between here and home, some of them being: 5-6 lane highways, drive-thru soda shops (soda’s big here), no one says “wicked” (I probably say it too often), obviously the terrain, scenery, climate, sales tax, cost of living, time zone, etc.

The entire vibe of this region is different, too. There’s an adventurous, outdoorsy feel that seems like it’s naturally born into the people around here. I’m fascinated with the way people seem fearless and always ready for another adventure. There are people who live here who live in vans and who relocated specifically to ski, snowboard, or hike. This lifestyle isn’t for everyone, but I’m so intrigued by it because I’m not used to this spontaneous of mentalities.

I also feel compelled to comment on the Mormon population in Salt Lake City. Yes, there’s a high number of Mormons here. Yes, some Mormons wear conservative clothing. Yes, downtown is peppered with buildings and churches dedicated to the Mormon religion. But I rarely bat an eye at any of it. It’s different from Boston, but so are the mountains, the general lifestyle, and the 6 lane highways. So, yes, a lot of Mormons live here. A lot of non-LDS people live here, too. Changing locations means changing up everything else around me, including the people.

I have a theory that I’m addicted to change because when I figure out I love something new, I fiend for what else is out there that I also might love. Just for an example, I love trying new restaurants, but if I go to the same one multiple times, I always get new dishes. I try to incorporate newness into my life as much as possible, even in small ways. I can’t help but think that there’s just too much to try and too much to do to sit comfortably in what I know.

I have to admit, part of me is terrified that I’ll never stop yearning for what’s foreign. The other part of me is terrified that one day I will. It’s a blessing and a curse to be plagued with the obsession of change, and right now in my life, I consider it a blessing. There will come a time when craving constant change is more of a curse, but I’ll just have to redefine my definition to not feel static when that time comes.

There’s one more major revelation that I’ve had here, as well, and it’s in regards to winter. I was dreading winter more this year than years past. It’s my least favorite season, and with Covid, it felt like winter was going to bring a new wave of seasonal depression that I’d never experienced before. One of my saving graces throughout quarantine was going for walks around Boston. It wasn’t abnormal for me to walk many, many miles when everything closed down. It was a way for me to get outside, breathe fresh air, and appreciate Boston’s beauty.

Winter would bring that to a stop, though. And then, what would I do? The lurking thought of coldness halting my time outdoors brought a blanket of unwelcoming feelings with it. Until, of course, I decided to move.

My roommate is from Florida and has been living in California for a few years. She was born into hot weather and sunshine. For someone who grew up and lived on the beach, I thought she’d have a bit of a hard time adjusting to Utah’s cold temperatures.

I was very wrong to make that assumption. She came to Utah for its cold temperatures and specifically to ski. She told me she hates palm trees (I didn’t know anyone could) and that pine trees are her favorite. She’s really excited for it to start snowing because of how pretty it will be and how fun it will be to ski in those conditions. She’s a true lover of cold weather, snow, and winter.

For someone who grew up in New England, winter had lost its lust for me a long time ago. The last time I loved winter was when I was a little girl. I loved when it snowed. I loved getting suited up, running outside into piles of fluffy snow, making snowmen, and sledding down the hills in my neighborhood. It was magical.

I started wondering when winter lost its excitement. When did snow become annoying? When did I surrender to the “inevitable” seasonal depression? When did I scribble winter down as my least favorite season? When did that magic die?

Meeting my roommate and moving to Utah has changed how I feel about winter. It feels like I took a step back in time to when I was young. To when I had a vivacity about the littlest things— carrots as a snowman’s nose, snow flakes that fell on my lashes, snow balls that accumulated for fights.

For the first time in all of my adult life I’m excited for it to snow. I’m excited for cold weather. I’m excited for winter, and it’s all because I’ve watched how fascinated my roommate is with what I have taken for granted for so long. Winter will come whether or not I want it to, snow will fall, cold temperatures will hit, and if I choose to not find the joy in that, I’ll have a lot less magic with the same amount of snow.

All in all, I am thoroughly enjoying my time thus far in Utah. I learned how to ski, I’m snowshoeing this weekend, I joined a book club, and I want to rock climb (indoors for now) in the near future.

I am truly so happy to be in my little apartment at the base of beautiful mountains. There is so much to do and see, and although I’m really excited to adventure around, I can confidently say that on the days I’ve done nothing, I’ve still felt a deep sense of peace, joy, and magic— the kind I had hoped would be out here waiting for me.