No Escape from Paradise
Nearly a year ago, I went to great lengths to extricate myself from Boulder. I moved out of my house, threw all my things in storage, and went on a grand journey around the world almost exclusively to uproot myself and have a chance to go someplace else. Obviously, the traveling was worthwhile in and of itself, but the impetus was to get out of Boulder.
Boulder is an amazing town. It suffers from excellent weather while still maintaining seasonal change. The population is infested by a wealth of intelligent, interesting and beautiful, though rarely in combination, people. Days and nights are regularly filled with arts and leisure that only the rich and famous could tire of, and ski resorts, hiking trails, and the call of city (or a close facsimile thereof) are just a Hop, Skip, or a Jump away. In essence, Boulder is the only attainable paradise I’ve ever experienced.
The rub is that the gems that adron Boulder, twinkling with an attractive allure, are also its greatest flaws. Those of us who are not brilliant or gorgeous or rich simply don’t fit in. The welcome given to us by the beauty of the surrounding area is not quite mimicked by the populace. Dating for one of us normies is nigh impossible, meaning that I can be both happy and miserable at the same time.
In many ways, Boulder is the venus fly trap of cities. It attracts its prey (me) by offering beauty and a delicious scent, promising the perfect sweet floral bouquet to pull its victim in close. Then, when the poor sap is comfortable and happy, it snaps shut and captures its quarry, slowly devouring it.
I thought my journey around the world had granted me escape from the jaws of Boulder. In reality, it merely proved that Boulder has its teeth firmly in me.
At the end of March, I’ll be officially living in Boulder once more. And it’s eating me alive.