Whoever said that nannying isn’t a real time job, has never
met me. I just returned from a week in Denver, Colorado taking care of this
20-month old sweetheart, Remy- all expenses paid vacation.
When I first heard we were going to Denver, to tag along at
my boss’s conference, I imagined us in warm fleeces in the middle of the
mountains. And when we landed, this image was affirmed as we drove by flat
lands with the Rocky Mountains jutting out in the distance. But within 15
minutes, I realized that Denver was a bustling city. . . filled with noise,
construction, and traffic. Immediately I felt anxiety spilling from my boss as
we tried to make our way to the Brown Palace Hotel, being consistently
re-routed due to closings of multiple one-lane streets. In the meantime, I was soaking up Remy’s
childlike obliviousness in the backseat.
We stayed at a landmark hotel, a place boasting its
celebrity status- a bit too stuffy in my opinion. It was filled with the elite sipping
high tea in the atrium, and hundreds of doctors crowding near the conference
rooms. Remy and I spent our days dancing near the piano man and wandering the
16th street mall as I stretched my camera zoom to find the Rockies
hidden behind mile-high skyscrapers. Although I usually find these gargantuan
buildings obtrusive and “inorganic”, I hadn’t been in a large city since a
quick summer trip to NYC and they sort of amazed me. Sort of. The sun
glimmering off of the thousands of windows-that was beautiful. The buildings
stacked on top of each other blocking the view of the nature that surrounded
us-not so beautiful. 
Luckily, I had some friends who I studied abroad with in the
area so I was able to have a reunion of sorts while in the city. The nightlife
in Denver was definitely to my liking, and my Scarfie friend, Katie, quickly
made me feel welcome in her environment. But other than the hospitable nature
of her clan, I wasn’t swept off my feet by many laid-back west coast vibes. I
was also surprised by the stank and number of homeless people who lined the
streets. I guess I am just used to Charleston, where I am on a name-to-name
basis with the homeless like Tin Tin who often make me smile. Here, I felt a
bit intimidated on the free bus or the one green space we finally walked to
that was dotted with men and women huddling near the trees. But I had to remind
myself that this was a large city, coupled with marijuana legalization.
So, besides spending our time in the kids’ section at Barnes
& Noble, we did a lot of walking (which was a great arm workout for me,
since we forgot Remy’s stroller). Surprisingly, the weather was similar to the
south and so I learned Denver is known for its 300 days of sunshine. In the
shade it was definitely chilly, but there were a few days when it was warmer
here than it was back home in Charleston. 
Before I went on my second outing with my study abroad buds,
I wouldn’t have said that I would return to Denver. I would arrive in the
Denver airport to hitch it to Boulder for some Rocky Mountain powder, however. But
while getting another feel for the social environment, I caught a glimpse of
how down to earth people here really are. Most people never really grew up here,
which creates this easy dynamic of building relationships with people who don’t
already have a massive friend structure. It definitely made it easy for a
newcomer like me- because who is more welcoming than a fellow newcomer? So
while guzzling beer at a microbrewery in the suburbs, with ten of Katie’s
friends and my study abroad flatmate to my left, I started dreaming up a
westbound road trip for sometime in the near future. (Also, I received the
nicest compliment from a girl at a dive bar. She told me I had this way about
me, reminding her of Jessa from the hit HBO show Girls. If I was gay I probably
would have kissed her right then and there.) So you go where you feel love, or
at least that is the travel motto I like to live by, and the Denver peeps
definitely made me feel loved.
“Are you headed home?” the older lady seated next to me
asked as I searched the clouded DC sky in hopes to say goodbye to Abe or
Jefferson, but no view below of the monuments that afternoon. After quickly
responding, yes, we immediately sequenced into a back and forth chat on how
grateful we were to be living in Charleston. I laughed, we had spent the past
thirty minutes bragging to each other about this beautiful place we shared as
home.
I have Home in the
ritual of midnight beach walks and constellation naming, and houses I’ve never
lived in but have always offered me couch and floor and bed and hug. And Home
is not confined between walls or city limits- it’s in the seven-minute delay
between sun and ground; it’s in the dirt my shoes leave on the doorframe of the
coffee shop where I have laughed, cried, written, studied, felt insecure,
worked through shit, and straight-up blasted myself with caffeine
-Brentan Schellenbach
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