The unbearable lightness of being in Santa Fe

What a place my old adopted home town is. I forget about the light, the air, the thunderstorms in July (once, when visiting town, I camped up at one of the campgrounds in the Sangres in a leaking tent-- it poured rain every evening or night and every day I would load my sleeping bag into the car so it could dry out), the people I love here who are always up to some weird shit or other, the tourists walking around looking pissed off and disappointed and poor. 

My history with this crazy little mountain town goes back to a night in early September 1983, driving down 285 from Taos, past Espanola, Pojoaque, Tesuque, cresting the hill up by Tano Road and seeing the then-small city wrapped in mountains and foothills. Headed to my junior year at St. John's, after a road trip of several days. Between 1983 and 2007, I lived here as often as I could. Got married and divorced twice. Started a private school that just finished it's 22nd year. Got fired from same school. Had so many weird experiences. 

For some reason, I have not wanted to return to live here since 2007. But I love visiting, still, and I remain very close to many people here, even after being gone a decade. There's something about bonding here in this outpost that makes the bond stick. 

Going to meet a woman I was housemates with in 1986 and have remained soul friends with ever since, even in spite of years of no contact. Every time we reconnect, we discover that we have been on analogous journeys. It's eerie. But beautiful. It's a very Santa Fe kind of thing.