Home, Revisited
The Ribbon of Light and the Quiet Recognition of Place
25 years after leaving Boulder, I didn’t return, but I remembered. A meditation on memory, ritual, and the gladness of coming home.
It was 25 years ago that I moved from Boulder to Austin.
Living in Boulder for nearly four years was a pivotal moment in my life.
Though I was a Southerner who didn’t quite fit in—no hiking, biking, or skiing—I loved it.
It was my first time living in a true four-season environment.
I became tough enough to drive snow-covered roads in my little Honda Civic.
Only once did I scare myself—sliding on snow-packed roads, imagining I’d veer off the mountain’s edge.
Instead of outdoor sports, I took up serious cooking, wine drinking, and Argentine tango.
I didn’t scale mountains—I built rituals.
I returned once, about twelve years ago, for a week-long work meeting.
May temperatures swung from the 30s to the 70s, and a rare snowstorm dropped at least a foot of heavy, wet snow.
I drove past my old apartment—the one that overlooked the golf course (really, the maintenance shed) and offered a sliver of the Flatirons if you looked just right.
They’d painted the place.
This October, I didn’t make it to Boulder.
Not enough time.
No descent from the hilltop into the valley.
No arrival ritual.
Instead, I rode the toll road -- unbuilt when I lived there -- and watched the mountains emerge. Familiar. Comforting. But surrounded by new construction.
Back then, I used to drive Hwy 36 to Denver for tango dances.
I’d watch the headlights and taillights stretch like a ribbon of light along the highway.
No photos this time, but I saw it again -- and appreciated it.
On the flight home to Austin, I reflected on what constitutes home.
The central Texas vegetation.
The view from the window seat, scanning roads I know.
The skyline of downtown as we approached the airport.
And later, being back in my familiar bed with my cat curled beside me -- telling me all about it while I was gone.
Boulder was pivotal.
Austin is home.
I feel a gladness of the heart to arrive at home.
A lifting of spirits.
Arrival and recognition.
Thank you for traveling with me through this memory.
If you’ve ever revisited a place — physically or emotionally — I’d love to hear what surfaced.
Feel free to reply, share, or forward to someone mapping their own ribbon of light.
Until next time,
Deana



This is beautiful. As someone who's been trying to find/define "home" it truly resonates.