A few years ago, I decided to leave Utah where I’d been living with the man I planned to marry to pursue a job in Wisconsin. We decided he would follow me out a few months later. In that space of time our already shaky relationship evaporated and, my favorite person decided to love someone else.  It’s been almost three years since I last heard his voice and, he’s married now. But, some days it still breaks my heart.

After we broke up, I was despondent. For months I begged God to let me die.

I cried myself to sleep. I stopped eating.

But, when I wasn’t bawling my eyes out in the bathroom at work, I furiously channeled my energy into my job, climbing, writing, trips and pursuing certifications. I had lost myself and my sense of identity in my relationship. I didn’t have time to waste getting it back.

Like it or not I was alone in the Midwest (not known for it’s mountains) with no family or close friends or community. I decided I was going to do whatever it took to be ok and make something of the turmoil I was experiencing.

I started seeing an incredible therapist and psychiatrist regularly. I worked six or seven days a week. I volunteered. I spent time with good people who I grew to love. I rediscovered that I not only enjoyed trad climbing but, I had a good head for it. I instructed adaptive skiing. I ran. I participated in my first triathlon which to my surprise turned out to be the USA Nationals. I completed Avy I, Leave No Trace and SPI courses. I fleshed out my rack. I bought the touring gear I lacked including replacing the shovel and probe that didn’t make it’s way back to me from Utah. The cynic in me says he didn’t expect I’d be needing them. I hope I’m wrong.

Despite my lack of proximity to classically exciting places, I used all the paid time off I earned from my big girl university job and traveled to Moab, Zion, Salt Lake, Ogden, Portland, Mount Hood, Durango, Anchorage, Humboldt County, the Everglades, Red Rocks, the Rubies, Isle Royale, the Keweenaw Peninsula, the Red, Asheville and Boone. It was an empowering and affirming “fuck you” each time I led a challenging route, skied a line I wouldn’t have attempted before or received recognition for a job well done.

I dreamed of eventually moving back out West. But, despite the adventurous individualism I was reclaiming, something told me that the West wasn’t big enough for the both of us and, I didn’t belong. To me he owned it and, I had no right to it. (To be clear, I’ve since learned this line of thinking is some bullshit.)

So now here I am, living in Utah again through an unexpected sequence of events. And, I love it. I love the wild places, the weird culture, the never-ending well of inspiration. I love it in a way I couldn’t have if I’d never left, in a way I couldn’t have on someone else’s terms.

But, being reunited with this place has drawn awareness to what is no longer here. I’d love to say I can simply be grateful for the special experiences I’ve had and fully let the painful parts go. However, I think I’ve been learning something better through this experience.

In practicing yoga, we are often invited to notice our breath without judgment, without trying to change it. Perhaps I can turn my focus away from uninterrupted happiness. Holding competing realities in the same space, I can carry the sad with the hopeful. Surrendering to my humanity, I can accept my experience as both complicated and simple, broken and whole.