Life is really, truly, wholeheartedly beautiful. In every stupid overused cliche, in each song about feeling reborn, I guess there really is some truth to be found. I have only been here for ten days and I feel more consistently alive than I have in longer than I can remember. There are no spouts of doubt and regret, spells of exhausted melancholy; I have only felt vivacious. I don’t know if it’s the mountain air or the lack of toxic company, but it is easier to breathe.
Things will not be like they were last year. I am no longer forced to surround myself with specific people or environments; I choose them for myself. I choose where I go, who I am with, and when I do so. I got to choose my living arrangements and in doing so, I met three extraordinary women whom of which I am already certain I will stay close with far after this adventure has closed. I feel absolutely privileged to come home and share my life with them every day. I am radiant in their company, as they are in mine. We feel no obligation to one another, no dread of debt. We sincerely adore one another and I hold that bond so closely, I find it almost sacred.
Here, I am no longer the reigning title holder of “That Girl With The Dead Mom”, “Sad Girl”, or “Snake”; I am Arden. I can finally be seen for who I am rather than what others painted me to be. The acrylic indigos and midnight blues I once drowned in are being washed away by these watercolored honey yellows dancing over my skin. People can finally see that I am so full of compassion I too often find myself bursting at the seams. I am patient, kind, and loving. I am a writer and an artist; the most raw form of myself can always be found in my work. I love what I do and the people I surround myself with. My reputation is dying and in it’s last breaths, I feel I’m taking my first.
Life really does start all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.