As humans, it’s a big part of our nature.
We can’t help it. Judgement and a need to categorize come naturally – it’s how we make sense of the world.
Here’s the downside: as we process, the information gets sifted through us. Our experiences inform our interpretation. The hastier we are in trying to get it in order; “figure it out,” the less we see.
At least, that’s my experience.
We’ve arrived at our new home, a small rural town in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming. So small in fact that there’s not even a Walmart. Uncle Sam – Sam Walton – said “nah,” left the cornfields and surrounding mountains undisturbed.
Chad backed us into our little spot in the snow and ice-covered RV park, with its wooden hand painted red and blue sign.
Mike the owner helped guide as we slowly lurched backward, getting our home into position.
“You have a California phone number, Alabama plates… I should have done a background check on you,” he joked. Or at least, I think he was…
Besides us, there’s one other person in the park, a few spots down. They live in a 5th wheel with an ancient pickup that has “Handyman” displayed with white sticker letters on the back window. We have yet to see said handyman, but I’m guessing he has long grey hair. And that’s only one of my assumptions – about him, and about this town.
To reduce this place to my immediate observations would be to sell it (and myself) short. So, I’m doing my best to take it slow. Make no assumptions. Let it unfold as it will, without being so hell bent on figuring it out based on what I see the first week here.
The pink and purple haired woman who rung us up and barely registered our presence, except to tell me my card was declined, was so bored and certain. It was the teen bagging our groceries – a box of Earthbound spinach that cost $9.09, and some almond milk that was over $5 – who realized it was the terminal, not my card. “Let me try,” he offered helpfully, in his crackly multi-pitched teenage voice, slowly easing my card through.
Success.
A pickup truck parked nearby along the street has just a single digit, the number 7 on its plate. Seven! That’s someone’s license plate number. After the county code of two digits – one stacked on top of the other – that’s it.
The main street is wide, two lanes going each direction. As soon as you’re out of town – past the old brick buildings and cornfields – you’re aimed straight at mountains.
The side of the road contains piles of gritty dirty snow, apparently this year was one of the heaviest snowfalls on record.
It feels so good to be settling in and experiencing something new. No expectations. I’m not asking this place to save me from anything. What I do hope will happen is that it will offer a steady backdrop. A simple uncluttered place to land, and I can’t help but grin every time I see the mountains. Knowing there’s more than enough space, more than enough room to breathe.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 