I was viewing a kaleidoscope over the last four days in Telluride, Colorado. There were solo hikes, lunches and dinners with new friends, films, a long nighttime drive from Cortez, lemongrass limeade at the local Steaming Bean, a rediscovery of Bridal Veil Falls, charming signage on the main boulevard. And so many stories to receive.
On Friday evening, Telluride gathered me into an evening fundraiser to support one local community member named Jenn, who has been battling cancer since 2011, resulting in extensive medical bills and hardship. A loving tribute to her and her family, this community enveloped her with an evening of film, remarks, custom-made t-shirts and a silent auction, and all proceeds were funneling to alleviate her costs.
The thick fabric of this community was evident that night. The intermission went long because of all the conversation in the Palm theatre’s lobby. The volume level of the lobby was short of deafening. The glowing remarks of friends surrounding this poor woman and her two young children were reflective of years in history together. I looked around slowly, taking refuge in my anonymity but also observing my disconnect. This was a commercial for home.
Another evening, I heard the abbreviated life history of one iconic older gentleman, whose love of skiing brought him here 43 years ago. Telluride offered a pathway that included three children, a year traveling around the world (with five weeks in Mongolia being the highlight), membership on the town’s council, a horrific accident, a lost marriage, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the hiking trails within a 100-mile radius of this box valley. The color of tragedy and triumph in this one individuals’ life was particularly poignant and it showed in his wizened face.
When I popped into a boutique to browse the upstairs sale items, I got the download on the shop owner’s boyfriend moving here to work at Telluride Ski Resort. She had lived here for three years, he only came to visit in the winters, they finally decided to commit further, and here he comes moving to this shoebox of quaint mountain living. Patagonia or Arc Teryx attire only please. Romance on the ski slopes, toes crossed this works out, I think to myself (glad to be 35 instead of 25 as I listened to the day’s novella).
Another story was about a son getting married on a far-flung island. And another preparing to wed for a third time after a scattering of kids across past loves and continents. And another cultivating the narrative of his late father’s legacy as a diplomat. And another making films as her fourth career in a lifetime. Telluride offered a platform for redefinition, a high threshold for forgiveness.
Despite the tipsy balance Telluride maintains, with second home residents whose professional lives wrap the globe alongside local residents employed at the high school and ski resorts, Telluride’s stories disarmed me with their uniformity. Different costumes and many more mountains than San Francisco or my other homes, but all the same struggles – love, health, children, money, survival, connection. Building home in the mountains never felt so raw.