It was too misty to see.
Just voices echoing against the eucalyptus walls.
She wasn't local.
Suddenly, her steam induced squint widened when I said, "I live here."
And then mine widened when she said she was from my home town.
It totally made sense why she would love Sedona.
I could feel the mid-westerner longing for something more.
Something unseen but touchable, somehow.
Her 40th birthday brought her to this shared moment in the spa and I found myself wanting to catch her downward gaze and lift it with a bit of hope.
"If you're feeling like this is the place for you..."
"No that could never happen." Looking toward the floor again, she added,
"you know...family and all."
A new thrust of steam broke the new awkward silence. She stood, looked back and thanked me for the conversation.
But, the words "you know," echoed in my mind.
I mean, do we as an advanced society agree to psychological shackles? Or are they so tightly passed down that don't see them at all?
Now, I'm not naive enough to think that family isn't a real consideration for one's life.
But, I couldn't ignore the gravity in her voice.
It meant something.
Something related to a life less lived.
Vacations and airplanes, and mortgages, and cars, and bank accounts, and memberships with a splash of Netflix can't relieve that inner call.
It never will.
But, courage can.
Courage and respect. If you respect your own soul enough to make your needs matter, mystical opportunities will match your actions.
This, I know for sure.
Arizona might not be the place for her. It may not be the place for you. But, this message isn't really about location.
It's about birthdays.
It's about how many more years you'll continue doing what other people say you ought to do?