Sitting in the rare, fleeting sunshine of this Minnesota winter — it’s only our second full winter here since moving from California in 2013 — I’m drinking coffee and catching up on the news via my USA Today app. As I lean forward, my elbows firmly on the coffee table before me (etiquette doesn’t matter when you’re socializing solo), my necklace dangles, a tiny jingle, to remind me it’s there.
It’s a charm from my mother, a “Grand Canyon” banner and mule in sterling silver. She gave it to me sometime during high school, I don’t know exactly when, but well into my teenaged era of longing for freedom from home. I remember wearing it every day, as a talisman to remind me that bigger things were out there waiting for me.
It’s hard to get any bigger than the Grand Canyon.
Today, I have all the freedom I could want, so, now, I wear this charm when I want to feel my mom’s love on me, when I miss her laugh, and her famous homemade egg rolls.
Home is great; I love it and the life my broken-in freedom has given me. But, the Grand Canyon remains my favorite place, a spot I long for and hope to visit again soon. It’s solitude, it’s majesty, it’s wilderness and beauty.
It is everything we are inside, except outside.