postcard 62: the end

but also, the beginning

We’ve been back in America for nearly a month now and in some ways it feels like we never left and in other ways it feels glaringly apparent that we’ve been away. This, I think, is perhaps the hardest thing to adjust to, and I knew it would be. The juxtaposition between the familiar and the change.

We promised ourselves that we wouldn’t just fall back into the comfort of old patterns, old ways of being that weren’t serving us. Worn and well fitting like the indents of a chair that’s spent decades sitting on the same square of carpet. But it’s easier said than done, especially when I’m still struggling to pinpoint just how we’ve changed in the last year. I write this from my parents' basement where I hastily started this Substack a little over a year ago.

The arms are the same, but the hugs are a bit tighter. It's a marvel to see all the people we love, within a few weeks and a few miles. To wake up to my dad’s voice as he makes coffee, to talk about books with my mother-in-law, to pop by and see friends on a whim.

There’s confidence in understanding how everything works. In being able to read menus and street signs, in knowing where the yogurt is at the store and which laundry detergents I’m allergic to without an itchy gamble. Here, I can read the sky and navigate by feel. My beloved mountains stay solidly to the West.

There’s bagels and Starbucks and Trader Joe’s, kale and canned pumpkin and good tofu and oh my goodness the Mexican food. We’ve eaten chile relleños and breakfast burritos and shamelessly gone through both the Del Taco and Taco Bell drive thrus. I could eat Mexican food multiple times a week for the rest of my life and never get tired of it, I lament to our friend Blake as I inhale chips and salsa.

But, it’s also overwhelming. The grocery stores are so bright and so loud. There’s advertising everywhere and I can understand all of it. Look at this! Buy me! Act now! There’s so many cars everywhere and I’m annoyed by how many stoplights and parking lots we have to navigate to go anywhere. I pay $6 for a coffee and $18 for a cocktail and every random cartful of groceries seems to cost $100.

I’m grateful for the dry air, I really am, but my lips are permanently chapped and there’s not enough lotion in the world to fix my hands.

There’s a few weeks spent at Topher’s parents’ house in Parker where Hazelnut chases squirrels in the backyard and unearths an unfortunately endangered mouse from hibernation. He doesn’t survive. We go ice skating with Scott and play bocce ball in the park on a perfect, 65° December afternoon. And, of course, we make sandwiches, the mortadella sourced from the Italian specialty store in town. There’s warm nights full of laughter as the house is filled with sisters and aunts and uncles, and quiet nights watching movies together in the living room.

But, it’s admittedly hard. I miss our town and our daily walks by the sea. I miss our apartment and having a space to call our own. My Christmas spirit is flagging, especially after the first magical snow melts into bluebird days—as Colorado is want to do. Topher tries valiantly to drag me out of my funk and we wrap presents and go to a Christmas themed brewery, drink peppermint mochas and watch holiday movies. And then, I catch a cold. It was inevitable, but it’s still a bummer, especially at Christmas.

Our suitcases noticably lighter after having gifted bottles and bottles of olive oil, we move down to my parents’ ranch late on Christmas Eve. It’s been 14 months since I’ve seen my sister—longer than I’ve gone her entire life without squeezing her—and it’s just as nourishing as I’d hoped getting to be with her every day.

We spend a traditionally loud day with too many cooks in the kitchen, waiting on the straggler potatoes to finish cooking as we do every year and it’s sweet to get to be together again. Hazelnut runs absolutely amok with her three dog cousins and we put Santa hats on the horses. There’s a trip to the zoo where we wander through free-roaming wallabies and an honest to goodness real American cheeseburger (praise be!) and movies and crafts and conversations around morning coffee.

I scroll through my camera roll to remind myself that the last year wasn’t all just a dream.

Life feels a bit like this strange time of year—that dreamlike state between Christmas and New Year’s where time doesn’t quite seem real and a sense of direction feels like a compass at the North Pole—spinning and absent.

I have absolutely no idea what this new year will bring. I’m eager to find out. I know that before long we’ll be in our own place and Topher will have found a job. We’ll be planning new adventures before we know it but for right now I’m trying hard to just be present—it’s hard not to when the future is murky and that is a blessing, in it’s own way.

This is my last postcard of 2025 and the last real postcard from europe. I started this project as a way to capture the little moments of our every day life so I’d remember them down the road. I knew the big adventures would stick clearly in my mind, but I didn’t want to lose the little details either. I didn't expect you all to love reading these snapshots from our lives so much and it’s been a delightful surprise to get to bring you all along on this journey with me.

I don’t know what this project will turn into, but I’d love to hear your opinion! I need a break from the weekly documentation of our lives and I can’t imagine you’d get quite as much of a kick reading about our weekly King Sooper’s shopping trips as you did about our European adventures, but I might continue to do a monthly recap of some of our favorite adventures in 2025 if you’re interested. Let me know what you think, but either way, thank you for embarking on this journey with us.

Wishing you each a beautiful, peaceful and adventure filled new year!

Love,

Mikaela