Things I Learned While Living in Sedona
“You love this town, even if it doesn’t ring true. You’ve been all over, and it’s been all over you.” –Bono, Beautiful Day
In Sedona…
Every thoughtful discussion ends with this phrase: “Do you think it’s a sign?”
The weather, change in seasons and month or day of the week will not impact your plans half as much as Mercury in retrograde. (And Mercury in retrograde is a valid excuse for anything that goes wrong.)
Red rocks attract fascinating people. People who used to be a “big deal” and now just want to go to the grocery story without wearing makeup or dance Zumba in camouflage leggings.
Kale tastes good. So does quinoa and flax seeds and matcha and deep-fried tofu. But kombucha still sucks.
Yoga? Yawn.
Children sometimes have four legs. And there’s nothing wrong with loading those four-legged children into strollers and taking them for a walk around the golf course.
Few things taste better than the first crop of Hatch green chilies.
There actually is such a thing as too much sunshine.
Just because you like to visit a city doesn’t mean you should live there.
Thirty is too young to be a lady who lunches…but it sure is fun.
Yard sales can yield remarkable treasures.
Biplanes, hot air balloons and gliders = nope.
Oscar statues are heavy enough to be a weapon.
Speaking of Oscar statues, actors and rock stars give great sound bites and are the perfect subjects to regale your friends at cocktail parties, but they don’t hold a candle to sitting at your dining room table with your favorite painter, eating salmon and discussing why Paris is the center of the universe.
Kokopelli is actually a caucasian bastardization of Ancestral Puebloan culture.
Libraries make my heart race, even when they smell like old people.
Fourth of July is for fireworks. Not laser-light shows. Say it with me, “Fireworks.”
Buying a house doesn’t mean damning yourself to a life of domestication.
Sometimes, veterinarians cry, too.
Living two-plus hours away from an airport SUCKS. So does living two hours away from the nearest concert venue. If you do so, plan to spend plenty of unnecessary nights in hotel rooms.
Relationships with hair stylists and aestheticians and massage therapists and manicurists are nearly as sacred as the one you share with your spouse. (Sorry, Daniel.)
Waking up in the middle of the night to find a scorpion in your bathroom is every bit as horrifying as it sounds.
There are few phenomenons on Earth as stunning and humbling and awe inspiring as a summer monsoon storm.
Bangs are better than Botox.
A red Mini Cooper can be an icon.
Never, ever paint the exterior of your home by yourself. Even if your husband tells you it will be fun. Even if you create a playlist and name it Pimp My Crib and put together an outfit for the occasion. Never. Some things are better left to the pros.
Impromptu kikis can happen at anytime and anywhere, as long as wine is involved. And kikis usually fix everything.
Sometimes an afternoon of shoe shopping, lunch and ice-cream shakes is the best birthday gift in the world.
Beer tastes best when it’s brewed in the garage. Bonus points if it’s a communal activity.
Arizona is backwards when it comes to a lot of things, but it got it right when it decided to forgo the observation of Daylight Savings Time. There’s no good reason, in the 21st century, to fuck with the clocks.
As for backwards, in nearly 13 years, I never became accustomed to seeing someone walk into a restaurant with a sidearm on their belt.
Gardening in Arizona isn’t about growing vegetables and flowers and fruits. It’s an hourly battle with Mother Nature that leaves you leaping out of bed in the middle of the night to chase away deer from your front porch. It’s about cursing your water bill and donning knee socks in the summer to stave off no-see-ums. Forget about it. Go to Whole Foods. It’s cheaper.
But the biggest thing I learned while living in Sedona is that when it comes to friendship, shared experiences are much more important than age. Age doesn’t matter.
I miss you, Sedona.
