Impossibly, I am now the (part) owner of a lil miner’s cabin in Idaho Springs, Colorado.
I *could not* be happier.
It is perfect. It is epic. I love it. I want to hug the cabin itself (and almost could). I want to hug the view, but simultaneously fling my arms wide because I couldn’t possibly capture it all. I want to hug the town. I want to hug the Frothy Cup that graciously had me working in their (delicious) coffee shop for almost all of their working hours on Thursday. I want to hug the fresh mountain air. I want to hug the pizza place, the thrift store, the antique store where we spent an ungodly amount on an absolutely unsupportable combination of silverware (6 forks—3 army-issue—and 5 spoons and 4 butter knives because there are 3 of us?). I (almost but don’t) want to hug the weird guitar guy who liked dad and my handsome humanitarian warrior better anyway, I want to hug the cars who wave at me walking up the road with Bob completely off leash, I want to hug my cabinmates who are boys and SO annoying despite being my beloved father and fiancé.
I put in the work to get this cabin, so it doesn’t exactly feel surreal or surprising, instead, I’m almost surprised that I could pull it off? Like I feel so incredibly grateful; and yet, this is what I work—and believe you me, this week alone I worked harder than a person should, including an 8-hour sojourn in New Orleans—for! This is the dream life I am building. And that part feels surreal: that I wanted a thing, and did it, and here we are, in the mountains, in a tiny cabin that is just awesome.
I love it here. I am so grateful.
We really bought a view, not a cabin…