5.16.20 // Monument Valley

Monument Valley.
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A few years back (as seen by my last post), I took my first "real" road trip out west. Driving from Chattanooga, TN, and eventually (accidentally) making it all the way to the Grand Canyon.
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For me, the draw for that trip centered around seeing the towering sandstone buttes of Monument Valley.
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Something about them called to me. I needed to see them, to feel them towering over me.
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As I built out a spreadsheet for potential routes (really, it's a great spreadsheet) and optimal time use since we only had 10 days, I was giddy. I listened to one song on repeat (Highway Anxiety by William Tyler). The song luring me in with a calm yet unabashed enthusiasm to be a part of the magic in the iconic valley.
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The days and the trip leading up to our arrival were epic. Great Sand Dunes National Park, hot springs in Ouray, Black Canyon, Arches National Park.
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But, then the day came for us to drive to Monument Valley.
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As the miles passed and we inched closer, the red buttes eventually rose above the asphalt river we cruised down, windows open, disturbing the red sand that scattered across the highway.
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While seeing Monument Valley was moving, our time there wasn't exactly as we expected. And even with the trip West centering on this moment, we only ended up spending one long afternoon in the valley amidst the towers because of the countless cars and disgruntled tourists.
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As we left the valley, we were ushered out by a storm that faded into an otherworldly rainbow. It was a parting gift, it was the magic I knew I was searching for in my calling to that place.
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When I think about this story, I think about expectations and how dangerous they can be. Living in a future that doesn't exist built by a narrative of my own imagination.
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But I'm also reminded that places can call to us if we slow down to listen and hear our names on the wind. Those places calling our souls' yearning for us to experience, to learn, or to meet.