I sipped my Peachy Palmer (a mix of black peach tea and lemonade) and wandered the historic streets with absolutely no agenda. Honestly, that's my favorite way to travel.
I wandered into a bookstore and slowly made my way through the aisles until one book caught my attention: The Book of Enoch. I tucked it under my arm and headed down the street to a cozy coffee shop where I ordered a vanilla latte (I know... wildly adventurous) and a gluten-free muffin.
I sat. I sipped. I read. I watched people come and go.
Mountain towns have always felt like a deep exhale.
In another life, I like to think I would've gone to college in a place like this. Maybe I'd live in a little cabin tucked among the pines, spending rainy afternoons reading while afternoon thunderstorms rolled through the mountains.
Instead, I live a few hours away, which is close enough to borrow this version of life every now and then.
I wandered through a thrift store and somehow found too many things. Then a witchy apothecary ... where I also found too many things.
The weather was perfect. Cool, overcast, and rainy despite it being late July. From the back deck of the rental cabin, I watched a family of deer wander through the trees, completely unbothered by deadlines, notifications, or the pressure to be anywhere else.
As a therapist, I'm always fascinated by how different environments affect our nervous systems. We often think healing has to happen in a therapy office, through deep conversations or profound breakthroughs. Sometimes it does.
But sometimes healing is much quieter than that.
Sometimes it's wandering without rushing.
Reading for no reason other than curiosity.
Listening to rain tap against the windows of a coffee shop.
Letting your shoulders drop because, for the first time in a while, your body realizes there's nowhere it has to be.
Lately, I've been in a season of rebuilding. Trying to find solid ground again after a couple of years filled with more questions than answers.
I think if people were honest, many would admit they've had their own existential chapter.
It doesn't always happen because something catastrophic occurred. Sometimes it arrives after years of carrying expectations; our own or everyone else's. Sometimes it comes after success. Sometimes after loss. Sometimes after realizing the life you've built no longer feels like it fits the person you're becoming.
As therapists, we often remind clients that healing isn't linear. We say it so often that it almost becomes cliché.
Then life has a funny way of inviting us to practice what we preach.
Maybe that's why I love places like this.
Mountain towns don't demand anything from me. They don't ask me to produce, perform, or figure my life out. They simply remind me that slowing down isn't laziness. It's often where clarity quietly catches up to us.
And sometimes that's enough.
To healing at high altitudes,
LC
Vibe with Me LC 