Limbo

  As I drove south from Cantwell, the weather matched my mood.  There were clouds down to the base of the mountains and I couldn't see any of the majestic peaks that usually make this section of the Parks highway my absolute favorite.  I drove away from the home I built, the friends I love, and the place on earth that makes me feel whole.
  It has been a hectic week, to say the least.  Between unpacking from travel and ski trips I also had to gather my gear for the Pacific Crest Trail and move some things out of my cabin so a friend can move in for the summer.  This is after an 8-day ski trip and a 3-day snow machine trip and a 25K ski race in the previous 2 weeks..... Some might say I had bitten off more than I can chew, but I got my poop in a group and accomplished nearly everything I wanted to. In between these chores were evenings spent at potlucks, slideshows, and Music Night.  Never a dull moment!  I feel I've got to see most of my close friends for quality time and goodbyes though a couple have slipped through the cracks.  All my ducks are in a row, I was able to leave at a reasonable hour for the drive south, and I no longer have to worry about my cabin or what condition it's in: it is what it is. I wish I'd cleaned it for myself like that back in cold, dark January!!
  As I was driving south to Anchorage I couldn't shake this feeling of sadness and nostalgia.  Rather than being pumped up about the PCT, I was thinking about how difficult it is to leave Alaska.  Particularly during the glory time!! We survived the extreme conditions of winter and now is when the sun and warmth arrive and bless us with our short summer season which is practically considered sacred around these parts.  Migrating birds return, baby animals are born, ice transforms into rushing water, leaves appear in what seems like a day, flowers start to bloom and then are suddenly so prolific that entire highways are framed in bright pink and entire hillsides look like an ad from a seed catalog. But beyond the physical beauty and my wonderful community of friends there is just something intangible about my relationship and feelings for where I live. 
  Though not born in Alaska, I feel I got here as quickly as I could.  I always say, "I can't help where my momma was when she borned me!"  I've had a relationship with the 49th state since I was a young pup of 22 and like all relationships we've had our ups and downs.  I've left her for other states and always come back.  She forgives me and welcomes me back with open arms. I tire of the long winter and vacation somewhere hot only to find my mind and body yearning, craving the crisp cold air of Alaska, the freshest in the world. She coddles me in sunshine and sweet ski conditions one day and beats me down with hurricane winds the next.  It's a dynamic relationship, to be sure, and I know who wears the pants in the family, but I love it--I love her--and am grateful for the beauty and magic she has shown me; about herself and about my own self.  Sometimes she lifts me up and makes me feel like a superhero and other times she lets me know I've grown too big for my britches and teaches me humility.

Feeling nostalgic for afternoons like this in my backyard.

 As I continued my drive south with my melancholy mood, Alaska tried to cheer me up.  I got a strip tease out of her.  She began by lifting her cloud-dress just a little, to reveal some of the glacial river valleys below.  I gave her a side-glance. Then she shimmied her cottony shift above her ankles to reveal some of the Alaska Range foothills.  My eyebrows raised. Farther and farther up the billowy gown went until I was treated to a full frontal:  Denali, in all her glory, from head to toe, stripped naked of all her cloudy garments.  Meow! Jaw wide open, eyes popping.  Standing tall in her blues and purples with a backdrop of powder blue, Alaska gave me her most thoughtful send off.  She told me she'll be here, just like this, when I get back.  The cabaret continued to the south with the bold, brazen, and completely naked chorus girls of the Chugach Range. Alaska really gave it her all.
 In my indomitable pursuit of living in the Now, I find myself in limbo.  Yes, I'm still in Alaska, but I'm not at home. I am close enough to look to the north and feel the pull of my ginormous backyard.  To feel the presence of my friends who feel more like family and who I will not see for the next 6 months.  My consolation is that I am still in Alaska for one more day and it's a gorgeous, sunny day.  And while I don't necessarily connect with Anchorage as a place, it sure contains some really wonderful people whom I will celebrate with this evening.  Tomorrow I will be in California, but I will not be on the Pacific Crest Trail. I will get to spend time with my parents, childhood friends, and get down to the nitty gritty of truly packing for this epic journey.
 But for now: limbo. Not at home and not on the trail.  If you ask me how I'm doing today or ask if I'm excited about my trip I might tear up a little bit.  My sadness is absolutely no reflection on my feelings for the PCT, I am excited for it. It is a dream come true!  But my melancholy stems from saying farewell to a place that has so thoroughly worked its way into my soul that I sometimes find it difficult to distinguish between Place and Self.  Over the years I've found that I define myself by Alaska.  I wasn't born here, but I am Alaskan. The place, the people are all a part of who I am. And now I'm going to a new place with new people and I think it's OK to take an afternoon to go ahead and miss this place and these people.
 Lord knows that once I'm on the trail I won't be missing anything......