My partner and I have a second home in Albuquerque. We only get to the condo loft about four or five times a year, usually for a long weekend. But for that one weekend at a time, we become residents of what seems like a parallel life.
It starts when I take off from my home airport with just a carry-on. I leave the baggage of a full time job, a part time job, and the care of aging parents behind.
As the plane takes off, one life gets tucked into bed and the other throws back the covers and stumbles towards its first cup of coffee.
Landing between the Sandias on the east and mesas on the west, ABQ becomes that comfortable pair of worn blue jeans you pull on each Saturday. The vigas on the airport ceiling are familiar old friends that greet you as you arrive.
But the defining moment comes when I turn the lock and open the door to the loft. There it is, just waiting, like a dog for his master at the end of a long day. The same as we left it, its 600 square feet reveals itself.
There's even a scent that overcomes you as you enter. It's an earthy, elemental smell. Maybe it's just the sandalwood candle in the room but I prefer to interpret it as an ancient ancestor, Wings Soaring, that presents us with this welcoming gift.
That's when the weekend takes up residence--the green chile cheeseburgers, bike rides along the Rio Grande trail, train rides up to Santa Fe, catching up on movies, Native American culture, and neochurch with Beethoven.
I'm no longer a brander, an adjunct, a son. I step into the life I imagine myself to have, some day. I allow myself to choose purposefully. Oddly, I disengage to engage. With so many having so little these days, this bit of narcissism becomes a guilty pleasure.
As the weekend comes to a close, we lock the door, close off one life and begin the journey back to the other. Wings Soaring sends us the spirit of safe travel. Red-faced mesas give way to undulating pastures. And we're air-lifted back to the first home.
As disconnected as the two lives are, I recognize that one exists because of the other. The need for one is enabled by the work of the other. And it's the disengagement that feeds the work. The issue is smoothing out the turbulence between the two. How do you become dual residents?
That's the challenge of the weekend resident in the weeklong life.
It starts when I take off from my home airport with just a carry-on. I leave the baggage of a full time job, a part time job, and the care of aging parents behind.
As the plane takes off, one life gets tucked into bed and the other throws back the covers and stumbles towards its first cup of coffee.
Landing between the Sandias on the east and mesas on the west, ABQ becomes that comfortable pair of worn blue jeans you pull on each Saturday. The vigas on the airport ceiling are familiar old friends that greet you as you arrive.
But the defining moment comes when I turn the lock and open the door to the loft. There it is, just waiting, like a dog for his master at the end of a long day. The same as we left it, its 600 square feet reveals itself.
There's even a scent that overcomes you as you enter. It's an earthy, elemental smell. Maybe it's just the sandalwood candle in the room but I prefer to interpret it as an ancient ancestor, Wings Soaring, that presents us with this welcoming gift.
That's when the weekend takes up residence--the green chile cheeseburgers, bike rides along the Rio Grande trail, train rides up to Santa Fe, catching up on movies, Native American culture, and neochurch with Beethoven.
I'm no longer a brander, an adjunct, a son. I step into the life I imagine myself to have, some day. I allow myself to choose purposefully. Oddly, I disengage to engage. With so many having so little these days, this bit of narcissism becomes a guilty pleasure.
As the weekend comes to a close, we lock the door, close off one life and begin the journey back to the other. Wings Soaring sends us the spirit of safe travel. Red-faced mesas give way to undulating pastures. And we're air-lifted back to the first home.
As disconnected as the two lives are, I recognize that one exists because of the other. The need for one is enabled by the work of the other. And it's the disengagement that feeds the work. The issue is smoothing out the turbulence between the two. How do you become dual residents?
That's the challenge of the weekend resident in the weeklong life.
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