No, I didn't have the privilege of growing up surrounded by these magical mountains, nor did I recently sign the dotted line for my first home. And yet, here I am, feeling the profound embrace of home. But what is home, really? Is it the familiar walls of our childhood abode, or perhaps the comforting embrace of loved ones? Maybe, just maybe, it's a sanctuary nestled deep within our own souls.
For the initial quarter-century of my existence, the concept of home eluded me, despite my relentless pursuit. After spending several winters in this town, I realized that among these snow-capped peaks and valleys, I had found my sanctuary. My gratitude for Aspen runs as deep as the roots of these ancient mountains, now intertwined with the very essence of my being.
Here, I hope to write numerous chapters of my life's journey, embracing the local culture and all its idiosyncrasies. My life's narrative thus far has been a tapestry woven with trials and tribulations. Raised by the chaos of dysfunctional parents — my mother's narcissism and my father’s bipolar diagnosis cast a shadow over my childhood.
Their toxic grip subjected me to various forms of abuse, leaving behind scars unseen. As a child, fear and confusion were my constant companions. High school offered no solace, prompting me to seek refuge from familial turmoil in the arms of more chaos.
A tumultuous romance with the town's resident bad boy eventually culminated in my expulsion from the familial nest and thrust into the w.
