The Little Prince and the Fox

It’s been snowing non-stop for over twelve hours, everything is covered in a thick, soft white mantel, temperatures dropped almost 20 degrees (Fahrenheit) overnight. 

It’s beautiful. 

It’s also a little concerning for me from the practical viewpoint since tomorrow I have to drive to the airport to pick up my “host mom”, but that worry is only very small and at the back of my mind, so I’ll leave it there for now. 

This real winter here is one of the things I’m enjoying the most. It goes so well with my current need for solitude, for retreat, for focused writing, and for healing. Yes, “winter therapy”. 

When making my decision for this semester and planning my move here, I often tried to imagine what it would really be like, what my days here would look like, and I also just let my emotions surface, tried to capture my “gut feeling” about this move. And what often arose, spontaneously, was the image of, and longing for, walks in the snowy woods on my own. 

Now that I’m here, I’m also just enjoying the snow from the window or on a short walk alone around my neighborhood. What I needed is a real winter, something I haven’t had since moving to California six year ago and that I actually even fled from (about a decade ago). 

I spent all of my childhood, teenage & young-adult years in cities where there were all four seasons, all very clear, each with their beauties and each with their function or purpose for our bodies. Then, about a decade ago, I spent three years in a country where winters were beautiful but far too long, summers too short, and spring & autumn were absolutely gorgeous but also too short. So basically I got too much winter. But that wasn’t the only — or the real — problem. The real problem was the partner with whom I was together back then; and now my own personal relationship with wintertime, with cold snowy winters like I had in the first 25 years of my life, needs to be healed.

That’s one of the profound things I’m doing here now: I’m healing. I’m healing those broken winters that wouldn’t have been so cold if I had been with a compatible partner or on my own. I’m healing wintertime memories from my childhood and teenage years with my family of origin back in Europe. I’m making connection again with parts of me that disappeared, or fell asleep or were put on hold, while I was enjoying the balmy, temperate climate of coastal California (which had its own profound healing purposes for me, as well — at least for a while). 

And I’m also healing just by enjoying all the aspects of real winter: the shorter days; the cold outside; the self-care that maybe comes more spontaneously from having to put up with more rigid conditions; the slower pace of life. 

Ideally, to be really well, I need all four seasons, well marked with distinct rhythms: I need a real winter to slow down, almost to hibernate, to be cozy, to reflect, to rest; spring awakes me again, literally, in all senses; then, I need a hot summer to feel passionately alive, to sweat it out, to feel the heat of the sun beating down on me, while maybe even relaxing and basking in the sun sometimes; and autumn to slowly unwind, to focus back in on work and goals again, to enjoy some mild temperatures, more balanced emotions, and beautiful colors. 

I realize these sound like “first world problems” and I feel a bit spoilt while writing this; but the way I mean that I need these different seasons with everything each seasons brings is that my body actually needs them in a very physical way — it’s the animal in me that needs these distinct seasonal rhythms, not just the rational part of me. 

And now, at this time of year, now is time for my body to soak in real winter! And in this particular juncture of my life, this snowy winter here also has an additional, profound meaning or purpose for me: emotional healing.

Today, I walked into my new climbing gym here in Colorado and I was seen. I mean my bodily presence was registered immediately and throughout the whole hour that I was there bouldering. 

It wasn’t just the “new face in town” type of thing. There probably was some of that, but it was also — mostly, I’d say — something else. Something I’ve become more aware or conscious of only in the past few years: the fact that we human beings really are animals and in many ways relate to each other at a basic, instinctual level that we observe all the time in other animals (that don’t spend all their time thinking). 

I grew up in a city; our dog had to be put down when I was six years old and I only had a pet turtle at home. I got some familiarity with cats, dogs, and tortoises through friends’ pets, and I didn’t fear animals; on the contrary, I went through a long phase in elementary & middle school where I’d collect and try to save or observe animals and wanted to become a zoologist when I grew up. But from adults around me as well as books I absorbed an attitude of detachment from other animals — indeed, I though of them as animals and us as human beings, as if human beings almost weren’t animals. I’ve always had the tendency to get into my head, to think a lot, to be quite rational; so that also led me to feeling remote from other animals. And I’ve had gender as well as body-image issues most of my life, so being in my head, rather than in my body probably also felt safer and/or more comfortable to me — the only way that felt safe or comfortable for me to be in my body was by being an athlete. 

I started to be in my body more when I moved to California six years ago. Looking back now, I realize it has been a gradual process that really became obviously apparent to me during the pandemic (and even painfully apparent for a while then). Now I also realize that this has been part of my fundamental liberation process that started when I moved to California from Europe six years ago: leaving behind me, at a great distance, my family of origin and my ex-partner who all negated and tried to thwart/stifle my gender identity was definitely a fantastic and very powerful way to start living in my body more. And this in turn allowed me to see human beings as they really are: animals, specifically mammals. 

There’s this funny memory from one of my birthday parties: there were two male friends of mine, with both of whom there was some level of physical attraction (between each of them and myself), and I remember how they looked at each other, their stance and the way they moved or held their bodies — their movements were exactly like those of two male specimens of deer or lion, or similar wild animals.

There have also been some painful instances that I remember very clearly. At the beginning, in the first place where I lived in California for over a year, I remember having the distinct feeling more than once of not being seen, i.e. as my bodily presence not being registered: I felt like I was invisible because no one really struck up conversations with me in cafes or on the street, nobody gave me the feeling of noticing I was there or of having any curiosity to get to know me. Then last spring, almost a year into the pandemic, I remember how eager I felt to be physically seen: so eager that I told a friend, “I want people to see my body” — so we went to a nude beach together! I know that feeling then was due to the long isolation and the lack of going to places like gyms where I used to go very often pre-pandemic, where people do indeed relate to each other on a physical or bodily level first of all: where we’re bodies, animals, with hormones flying around, before anything else. 

Before the pandemic I had never realized what an important factor that is to my general well-being. 

So now I have become particularly sensitive to the feeling of being in my body and of relating to the world, and other persons, around me through my body: with me as well as them registering each other’s bodily presence before anything else, like wild animals. 

It’s not an objectification of others (or of myself), at all. It’s rather a real, specific way of interacting with the world and with other animals of which I wasn’t fully aware until recently. And I like it. I like it very much (in the appropriate contexts). But I also realize that I like it now because I’m ready for it now: because I’m finally confident and comfortable in my body and also more clear and confident about my gender identity. 

So when I walked into the gym today and realized how my bodily presence was being registered, it felt really good: somehow I felt acknowledged at a very fundamental level — basic, instinctive, unfiltered. As one of the species (in this case, rock climber) — literally, as “somebody”. Oh, yeah! 

[Disclaimer: this post is going to be quite self-celebratory because I am not only very happy but also extremely proud of what I’ve just done.]

I made it! 

Yesterday I made it to my new (albeit temporary) home in Colorado and now I’m sipping tea in the living-room watching thick, soft snow fall outside the windows. So weather-wise, I made it just in time — one of the benefits of being a paranoid planner, I guess! 

I’m happy because I love this place and it feels like a homecoming, since I spent one of the most beautiful summers of my life here last July 2021. But I’m also happy because I truly needed this change. Maybe the stifling aspects of my life until last week weren’t due only, or mainly, to the location, but to my own situation, to the fact that I felt stuck in my own professional as well as personal life? Or simply due to my own nature, to my character, to the fact that every few years I need a big change? In some ways maybe I was getting too comfortable in my situation in California, and comfortable in ways that weren’t fully satisfying to me and that lacked growth in some important aspects of my life, and that’s why I felt stifled? 

Maybe I just needed to push my comfort zone further, in a great, momentous spurt again, as I need to do now and then? 

Over the years, I’ve realized that I have a very big and elastic comfort zone that I like and even need to push quite often. And I’ve done it again. I’ve just driven myself and most of my belongings across several States, over 1,300 miles, through desert and mountains in wintertime, on my own, to embrace change and start a new phase of my life, after having packed up years of my life in boxes and moved out of a place where I spent the past five years. 

This is HUGE. 

Admittedly, I got help from friends both for some practical errands and for advice or emotional support — proving, once again, how blessed I am with friendships. 

But then, at the end of the day, getting my belongings and my butt into my car and driving myself all the way here to embrace this new phase of my life, was something I had to do all by myself. And I did. Just like I did six years ago, when I packed my bags and moved from Europe to California because I felt stifled and unhappy there and needed to pursue my own dreams, or to push my comfort zone and grow. 

In this moment, I’m mostly proud of the practical issues I overcame, the aspects of really practical growth in this journey. Simply the fact of driving alone for so many miles in wintertime: I had never done it before. 

When I moved to start my post-doc, it was also wintertime and in some ways a similar trip by car in wintertime crossing mountains, but so many aspects made it easier (from the practical viewpoint): I wasn’t alone, since I was moving with my ex-partner, so we could take turns driving, navigating, and doing anything else; we were traveling in his car, so he was familiar with and had taken care of all the practical aspects such as winter tires, chains, non-freeze windshield fluid, etc.; we were crossing the Alps, with only one day of traveling and no stretches of being “in the middle of nowhere”. And this was over a decade ago and I haven’t been in real wintertime mountain weather for over six years now — and never on my own. So when the snowstorm started shortly outside of St. George, UT on my third day of travel, I panicked. But I kept a level head and dealt with it. The worst part really was the windshield fluid: when I took my car to the mechanics before leaving California, I told them specifically about my upcoming trip through the mountains in below-freezing temperatures, asking them to make sure they added the correct, “real” type of non-freezing windshield fluid. They assured me they had, and I trusted them. I guess I should have double-checked in some way: as soon as the temperature went below 32 degrees Fahrenheit, my windshield fluid froze, making my windshield wipers not only useless but also hazardous — and of course, I found this out in the middle of a snow storm in the mountains in Utah. 

I’ve ridden my motorcycle in conditions of poor visibility and I drove my car through a storm last summer, with rain so thick that visibility was nil and I had to stop for a while. So I know how scary it is to drive when you can’t see where you’re going, and I know that you’ve just got to stop as soon and as safely as possible, and resume traveling after you’ve regained visibility. I’ve done it before. But never in a snowstorm in the mountains on my own. So I guess it was the novelty of the experience that scared me: the fear came mainly from the situation being unfamiliar. But I’m really proud for not letting the panic take over. I literally talked to myself, admitting out loud that I was scared, and then, once that was said and out of the way, dealing with the practical aspects of the situation. I solved the problem and drove myself safely through the mountains and snow for the next day and a half. And in doing this, I also learned more about my car: for the first time, I opened the hood and inspected things on my own (I had done it before but always with persons who were experts and who therefore took charge)! 

This might all sound silly or “normal”, but for me it’s a big deal. I didn’t grow up around cars and this is literally the first car I’ve ever owned (I got it in summer of 2020) and only driven it in mild or warm/hot conditions. Give me a sailboat and put me in a storm: I know exactly what to do and won’t panic at all. Road trips and maintenance on a motorcycle are also much more familiar and manageable to me now (since 2018). But cars in real winter weather on a long road trip across mountains, on my own, is definitely pushing my comfort zone — or, at least, it was until the other day! 

What really helps me in these situations to keep a level head is thinking of the worst-case scenario and what I would do if that happened: once I visualize and almost “make peace with” the worst-case scenario, then I can calmly focus on whatever is happening in the moment, no matter how bad it is, and solve it as rationally as possible. And one of the things I like about this trouble-shooting and problem-solving in a real, practical scenario is that it can remind us (or, at least, me) of the skills and resources and knowledge that we really have and often forget. 

Dealing with new situations, with the unforeseen or unfamiliar, is a great way to push our comfort zone and something I really enjoy because it feels empowering and brings me a sense of growth. 

As my artist-friend said to me last week about some emotions I was sharing with them, “Isn’t it wonderful that at forty you can still experience such new feelings?” — Now I can add, “Isn’t it wonderful that at forty I can still learn so much, with so much enthusiasm, and that there’s still so much out there for me to experience?”!

As much as I love coastal California — an area of the world where I spent the past six years of my life by my own choice, because I wanted to live there so badly — it feels so refreshing to be away from there! 

I hate generalizing and I usually avoid doing it and try to be very careful when I do draw “blanket” conclusions about people or places or situations… But I think there’s something very stifling or maybe somewhat “artificial” or too “tame” about coastal-big-town California. I’m not able to pin-point it or explain it clearly in words, yet: it’s still just a feeling but it’s a sensation that has been growing on me for a while now, probably even before last summer and that trip in Colorado. 

On a very personal level, the deepest connections and friendships I’ve made during the past six years living in coastal California have been, indeed, with persons who aren’t originally from there (apart from only one or two notable exceptions): they’re all, like me, people who have lived in several parts of the world and chosen to move to that part of California, at least temporarily, for specific professional and/or personal reasons. So they’re all people who have grown up and experienced environments and realities that are very different from coastal-big-town California: maybe “tougher” than that part of California, if I could summarize it in just one word. 

Maybe it’s the lack of winter, since coastal California really only has three seasons (spring, summer, autumn)? [I am fascinated by, and partly agree with, Montesquieu’s theory of how climate/environment shapes people and cultures.] Or maybe it’s too much wealth? Or wealth spread too unevenly? Or “too much of a good thing”, as one of my older friends/mentors, who’s originally from the East Coast, put it?!?

I’m not sure, yet, what it is exactly, but getting away feels really good: a change I definitely needed now.

Despite the long tiring day driving in winter conditions that I had long forgotten, I feel refreshed and still liberated and empowered by this move, this step, this decision. At least for now. 

Two days and nearly 800 miles of travel and I can already feel the benefits of this move, the “high” from being on the road. 

Leaving the place where I spent the past 4-5 years of my life yesterday felt like I was tearing myself away almost against my will and for the first few miles I felt so sad that a knot blocked my throat and I kept thinking to myself, “This is only temporary: I can come back if I want to, whenever I want to”. 

I finally got started at noon yesterday so I got to my first destination after dark and exhausted from a long trip in a mostly boring landscape — densely inhabited and/or empty flat central California — boy, that State is HUGE! 

The quiet place I had booked for the night, outside of a small town, almost in the middle of nowhere, though, made up for it: the cold, crips air felt so pure last night and the starry sky with a dim Milky Way was a pleasant reminder of nights spent camping or backpacking. 

I woke up refreshed, full of energy and in a good mood this morning, ready to go, to embrace the road, this new adventure, and life in general. 

The landscape was mostly still boring, still huge California and then, finally, Nevada, which was almost worse — and the traffic jam through Las Vegas, made worse by a car crash, was hellish. But these were only tiny blips in an overall wonderful, amazing day. Even the hour sitting in traffic through Las Vegas was somehow good because it reinforced my sense of resilience, of what I can truly tolerate and do and achieve. 

Overall I feel so empowered, so strong, so hopeful again. Even the trip through the boring landscape was positive: with my favorite music playing as loud as I wanted in the background, I could let my feelings and thoughts flow at their own leisure. And most of what came up was similar to what had started to surface during my travels to/in/from Colorado last summer, but much more clear and intense and powerful this time: the feeling of being a boy and of wanting the world to see me as such. The idea of getting my name and gender legally changed came back with an urgency that was almost unbearable. And then even newer thoughts, at first almost a question of curiosity: how would I look with facial hair? I then discarded this idea but realized that my desire to have no breasts at all, to get rid of even the tiny tits I have, has become extremely intense. 

I have never cared about my breasts, I never used them to “enhance my looks”, I never even used bras until society in some way or other forced me into thinking about my breasts. I wear sports bras and female swim-suits only for practical reasons; but at the beach I’ve always tried to find ways to be topless. And today as I was driving through barren south-eastern California I pictured myself bare-chested, really freely bare-chested: i.e. bare-chested in a totally “socially acceptable way” by being completely flat-chested. To be allowed to swim bare-chested only wearing “Speedos” at the pool; to run and climb and work out bare-chested at the gym when it’s hot; to have a completely flat chest no matter what I wear. And yes, that image felt so wonderful, so liberating, and especially so “wholly me”: that’s how I would really like to be, to look, if I could. 

Then, traffic jam through Las Vegas… okay, survival mode while I try not to think how hungry I am and that I have to pee… But afterwards, refreshed by a pit-stop and snack, I finally started on the last leg of today’s trip, a little over an hour long — and the most beautiful of these past two days. 

Here I am, over six hours on the road, heading into the evening, with Meredith Brooks’s album “Deconstruction” blasting in my car to keep me going. And suddenly the barren Nevada desert specked with horrible urban conglomerates gives way to a rocky canyon turning more and more beautiful as the road winds its way through it. We’re nearing sunset, the sky is turning yellow, orange, pink, tinting the few clouds violet, but the best is yet to come: there, all of a sudden, the canyon wall right ahead of me bursts into red-golden flames. 

I get into the right lane of I-15 N so I can drive a little slower and just soak it all in. 

Meredith Brooks’s song “Sin city” is playing now, one of my favorites, and perfect for this moment — on “repeat”. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline, endorphins, or dopamine flooding my system, but I’m feeling high like on some of my best “runner’s highs” — flooded by real synesthesia: I’m feeling colors, seeing sounds, soaring through the sky. The canyon gets more and more beautiful at every turn as dusk flushes everything in pastel hues spotted with flames. And then, at last, as the canyon opens up to wider land, I turn my head North-West and see them: the snow-capped mountains. WOW.

The whole of me — body, mind, and soul — was flooded with a sense of awe so engulfing that all I could do was look and think, “This is so beautiful”! 

And I’m still feeling it now, more than two hours later and close to bedtime: the awe, the joy, the lightness (or “unburdenedness”), the freedom, the empowerment, the power and hope and potential of having a new road ahead of me — literally as well as figuratively — open, open, open.

Wide open. 

My place is almost completely empty now, after having taken most of my stuff to a storage unit yesterday and to Goodwill today. 

It feels weirdly fun and liberating to live in such a minimalistic way… 

Just a couple more nights here… I’ve been sleeping with the shades on my windows open to enjoy this place — the starry or cloudy sky, the full moon, the gentle sunrise — as much as possible, to soak it all in before leaving. 

More Goodbyes today: I went to my office on campus and to my climbing gym for the last time (at least until next summer or autumn, when I might have to go back, either to resume my activities there or to retrieve even my last belongings). 

With my move and the change so close in view now, both campus and the gym were less triggering than they used to be. Actually, I felt full of a positive, optimistic, tranquil resolution: that if I do come back to live & work here, I’ll do it only if I really want to; and if so, I want to do it free of trauma — like I used to pre-pandemic. 

I also said Goodbye to another good friend this evening, right after enjoying another sunset at the beach: a friend (physicist & teacher, as well) that I made during the pandemic. A meaningful Goodbye because he knows and understands very well the reasons of my current move…  

And now, time for self-care. After all these important Goodbyes and with the upcoming trip looming so close and several practical things still needing to be done, it’s time for some self-care tonight. 

Yesterday I had a wonderful day — perfect for “my anniversary of liberation”: the right amount of packing and organizing for my move, with feelings of satisfaction and eagerness to go; a wonderful long run on my favorite trail with absolutely gorgeous weather and beautiful views; dinner with a friend (& some help from him for my move); a lovely walk to the beach after dinner, just to enjoy one of my last evenings here — at least for a while.

I went to bed feeling happy, free but surrounded by friendship & love, eager to take my next step. 

This morning the weather would be perfect for a run again, but I cannot go because the movers are coming to take my stuff to the storage unit. So I’m a little fidgety from the lack of exercise. 

I’m looking forward to getting all these boxes out of my place, to “declutter”, and then to hit the road on Sunday — I’ve already booked a place to stay the first night of my travels! 

But I’m also very scared of the loneliness I might incur. 

When I get to Colorado next week, my host family will still be away, one of my friends from last summer will have just moved to New York for his new job, and the nextdoor-neighbors who are close friends of my host family will be away on a trip. 

So apart from a couple friends in a neighboring town, I’ll be completely alone the day I arrive in Colorado and for the first whole week there. 

Although one of my main reasons for taking this step and moving to Colorado now is to have a break from things here, to think and reflect and write my book more freely, in solitude, I’m nevertheless afraid of the loneliness I might feel. 

I’m also afraid of losing the friendships I’ve made here, especially the more recent ones (mainly my climbing buddies). These friendships are super fun and have been a wonderful change for me compared to the first three or four years here. But they’re also recent friendships, still fresh and maybe not deep enough to survive the geographical distance… What if I decide to come back and settle in California again next summer or autumn and these climbing buddies have forgotten me? 

“Six years ago, hope was nothing much 

Waking up to a stranger’s touch 

I gave up a lot just to be free

But my good friends hung on to me”

Today is what I call the “anniversary of my liberation”: six years ago, I got on a plane with two suitcases (and a few boxes of belongings on their way in a container ship), leaving everything (job, apartment, partner of seven years, etc.) behind in Europe, moving to California and following my dream of a lifetime. 

It was scary and very painful but the desire and need to get away, the eagerness to follow my dreams at last were stronger and overshadowed everything else — fortunately. 

To date, I still see that as the best (albeit possibly the hardest) decision of my life. And that’s why I’ve been celebrating this anniversary ever since, making the best I can of this date every year. 

Today, I’ll celebrate by enjoying the sunshine and focusing on the positive aspects/feelings of my upcoming move to Colorado. 

I’ll go on my long weekly trail run on my favorite trail. 

I’ll pack boxes with a sense of care and joy, with the idea of unburdening myself for some time while also treasuring and taking care of the things I love and want to keep. 

I’ll go see the sunset at the beach and then have a hearty dinner and relaxing evening, possibly with a friend visiting, otherwise planning the nice parts of my upcoming trip. 

Another big upcoming move, almost exactly six years after my life-changing move..! 

But also, I am leaving here because I have the wonderful opportunity to spend a few months in a beautiful place that I love, living rent-free with friends (instead of alone and feeling lonely as I do here) while also having plenty of space & time for myself. 

That’s hard to beat! 

So as scary as this choice may be now, it is a free choice: frightening but also empowering. And if nothing else, it’s a nice break and a breath of fresh air!

Why am I leaving here? 

This question has been popping into my mind quite often in the past few days. 

The nice, sunny & mild weather, the gorgeous sunsets over the ocean and the walks at the beach; the ocean in the full moon — and being able to enjoy most of these with friends and with one close friend in particular; all the friends and acquaintances and climbing buddies I have here, whose affection and love or, at least, sincere enjoyment in having me around, I can now see & feel so clearly; even my boss’s coming around and showing how much I’m valued at my job… Why am I leaving all this? 

I’m so scared of regretting this move, of losing so much that I have built and found here, of not finding it again in another place or even here if I decide to return here… 

So why am I leaving, despite this fear and despite all these positive, even wonderful aspects? 

I am leaving because I am still burned out by my job and in need of growth in ways that my current professional position cannot provide me without a change of some kind — and what change precisely I need to find out, even by moving away. 

I am leaving because I need to understand what my true motivation or drive or dreams in life are: what career do I really want and why? Do I really want to teach, and if so, why? Do I really want to do more research, and if so, why? 

I am leaving because I need to step away from this particular school that triggers so much in me, often stirring emotions too intense for me to function in a healthy, sustainable way. 

I am leaving in order to finally leave behind me certain aspects and persons from the last chunk of 2-3 years here. 

I am leaving so I can finally stop looking for a certain person and a particular white pick-up truck at the climbing gym. 

I am leaving so I can admire the sunsets, walk at the beach and in the park, go bouldering outdoors wholly enjoying those places and moments for myself and with true friends who are present in my life now, without being haunted by a ghost. 

I am leaving so I can understand how much I truly love this place, or not, and why. 

I am leaving in order to allow myself to fall in love freely & unburdened again, to fall in love with places (old & new) and people and experiences. 

Although I don’t necessarily have to, I am leaving because I choose to do so now.