Local: July 2011

My friend and I had decided to play hooky and caught an afternoon flick — typical for Colorado, we enjoyed a cloudless sky and the friendly, dry warmth of a summer day as we walked to the theater, then found ourselves dodging the first raindrops of an evening thunderstorm leaving the movie. We hurried to the shelter of a new restaurant in my neighborhood.

I’d been wanting to try the place in the weeks since it had opened, but due to the vagaries of logistics, scheduling, and commitments, this was my first foray. We wiped our soggy feet at the door and hightailed it upstairs to the bar, settling into a cozy booth for two. The view was cause for exclamation; we watched through gigantic, open picture windows as the Denver skyline was slowly overtaken by the squall that we’d just barely avoided. The lights in the many windows of the skyscrapers had just begun to glow as the city disappeared behind a curtain of rain, glass-vibrating timpani thunder shaking the room a mere breath after flashes of spectacular cloud-to-cloud lighting. 

We’d just begun digging into some particularly delicious small plates of delectables when a sturdy guy in a chef’s uniform came hustling to our little table.

“Hey, are you Eric Elkins?” he asked.

“Uh...yeah...” I responded, a little tentative, not knowing what sort of trouble I might be in.

But I wasn’t busted — I was recognized. This talented chef of two beloved Denver restaurants had seen that I’d checked in via Foursquare and Twitter, and wanted to come up from the kitchen to meet me in person. He thanked me for finally getting over to the restaurant, and then asked how we’d liked our food so far. After humbly receiving the accolades, he informed us that he’d be sending along some more dishes to try, lovingly recounting the provenance of the ingredients before shaking my hand and disappearing.

One of the plates, a deconstructed Moroccan tagine, served with two flawlessly decadent slices of lamb belly, was so sublime I almost started crying at the table. I’m not joking. But, as we nibbled at the brilliance on offer, I couldn’t help but be humbled and gratified by such kind treatment. It’s good to be known in my town.

I’ve said before how I’ve been offered amazing jobs in brilliant parts of the country (and in other parts of the world), but that I’ve always turned them down because I’m committed to being an integral part of Simone’s everyday life. Until she’s off to college, I’ll be where she is. It hasn’t always been easy to decline an opportunity to make a real difference for a forward-thinking company, but it has always been the right decision.

When I talk to friends about the next few years of my life, I tend to refer to my ‘X’-year plan. When we were first divorced, it was my 15-year plan. Then it became my 10-year plan. And now, with an empty nest a mere seven years away, well...you do the math.

And my plan has always been pretty simple — I’m in no rush for her to grow up, but when Simone goes away to college, that’ll be my cue to pack up and leave Colorado. Maybe finally move to the Bay Area, where I can surf and eat well and spend long weekends in Santa Cruz; or maybe I’ll put everything in storage and just hit the road — make my way to Asia or South America, and wander. Whatever — the story has always been that I’m out of here as soon as Simone leaves.

Growing up, we moved every few years, and I became accustomed to packing up and making friends in a new, very different city from the one I’d just left (from Denver to LA was shocking; but from LA to Colorado Springs provided its own challenges...I still remember my first friend introducing me to chewing tobacco, and just how sick I got). Moving after a few years in one place was normal for me, and it became part of my internal rhythm. So imagine how unsettling it feels for me to have lived in Denver for 21 years this month! I do get wiggly, and the urge to pick up and go is almost irresistible at times, but, other than a 9-month stint in Omaha, Denver has been my home my entire adult life.

The wanderlust that was imprinted into my heart — that need for a big change every so often — has made me feel stuck here ever since the divorce more than eight years ago. Sure, there are worse places to be beholden to, but the knowledge that I have no (real) choice but to stay in Denver has felt like a lodestone at times.
But, lately, I haven’t been so sure it would be an easy thing to leave this city behind when Simone comes of age and heads off for college.

I’ve grown into Denver, and Denver has grown into me — it’s more than a collection of great local chefs, talented bartenders, major league sports teams (six of them!), and heartbreaking sunsets. Denver is more than a gateway to mountain-hosted sports and outdoor adventures. More metropolitan than cosmopolitan, Denver has a feel and a personality all its own, with a subversive arts culture that has blossomed in just the last ten years; with a cadre of DJs who could stand up against whatever LA has to offer; art galleries as mystifying and unsettling as anything you’ll find in Soho; theaters, both large and small, that host an array of new and established plays and spectacles; live music, street performers, food trucks...they’re all here, acquitting themselves with panache. 

And Denver is more than its climate, with the kind of weather the rest of the country only dreams of — our warm, dry summers (with those sudden outbursts of rain and thunder) are the stuff of legend, and our mild winters (with the occasional blizzard) are a well-kept secret. If you haven’t been privy to the scent of spring on the heels of an April snowstorm, or experienced the bittersweet joy of donning a light jacket for the first time in September, you don’t know what you’re missing.

But what makes Denver the city that keeps surprising me — what renews my love for this town at the very moments when I just want to get the hell out — is the people who bring a richness of creativity, culture, and kindness to our daily lives around here. 

Having lived in Denver so long, and having been so active in the community, means that I rarely leave my house without running into someone I know. It can be a blessing or a curse, without a doubt, depending on my state of mind, how late I am for the next thing, and whether I have the girl in tow. At least I’m on good terms with just about everyone in my past, and I’m incapable of holding a grudge, so the awkward situation is rare. 

But I wouldn’t have been treated with such deference and casual kindness by a chef in San Francisco or LA or Chicago — that moment of grace was a direct result of the relationships and name that I’ve managed to build in the 20+ years I’ve made this city my home; there are Denver restaurants and bars where I tend to be cared for, and Simone seems to think it’s normal to have owners and waitstaff welcome her by name. We are locals in every sense of the word — except the provincial one — we know the best places to eat, the fun parts of the city, and where you should take your out-of-town guests. We know how to dress for a day on foot, how to pack for a night in the mountains, and how to make the most of the rare rainy day. 

Being on the move with my best pals on an off-duty Saturday night means surrendering to the flow of the evening, and enjoying the surprises and dustups that result — free shots from a well-loved bartender, dirty looks from someone’s ex-girlfriend, a crew that grows and ebbs as we wander from one venue to the next, sometimes taking on a jumble of old friends or new strangers for the ramble, or shedding the ones who have plans for an early morning hike or yoga class the next day. It means a late-night solo walk home across the three bridges that take me back to my neighborhood, enjoying, in season, the embrace of the vestiges of radiant heat still rising from the pathways, the scent of the trees locking themselves down for the cooler months, or a bracing flurry of fresh snow that sneaks in between my coat and scarf.  

And one of the most satisfying aspects of living and working in this city for as long as I have is the honor of connecting the people who ought to know each other; whether it’s a talented UI person looking for the next great gig, or an employer who needs to bring in someone with a particular type of expertise, or two artists with similar goals and perspectives. Last week, I dropped in at one of my favorite new restaurants because the owner had put word out via Twitter that happy hour had indeed begun. When he went to introduce me to two guys who are doing some project work for him, they were the ones who reminded us all that I’d connected them to him in the first place. Back slaps and smiles all around. 

Facebook, LinkedIn, Foursquare, and Twitter have brought my disparate local and national circles together in some unexpected ways, and the constantly evolving result has been a rich and complex tapestry of connections and synergies, of creative pursuits, startup successes, and longterm relationships. But it’s my Denver connection that gives the network its warmth and joy.

Seven years is still a healthy chunk of time; who knows what adventures lie ahead for Simone and me, or what my priorities will be by the time she’s ready to make her own name somewhere? I don’t have to think too hard about it, and I can still dream of a house looking over Monterey Bay. Maybe it’ll just be my second home, rather than my primary.

But it’s good to know that, even though I didn’t grow up in any one place, I can recognize that I have a home. A family of friends has grown around Simone and me — we’re part of a neighborhood and a community and a network of love and support. Simone has the locational stability I never experienced, and, through her own force of personality and charm, has built her own fan base in this city.   

I grew up all over, but Denver is our hometown. 

Comments

[Ean]

This is the first I've heard of your story to up and move once Simone goes to college.

Let me be the first to tell you, your peeps in Denver will NOT let you make that departure.

You're free to take vacation as long as you ask in advance.

[Leslie Picker]

Your writing has matured so beautifully. Always good, but now has greater depth, showing vulnerability, which good writers are able to do.

[EstherK]

Oh, no you di'n't. I don't know why you'd post this plan to leave Denver, knowing full well that Ean will not permit it. But I do think it's healthy to want more flexibility in your future life, and almost as admirable as it is to want to give Simone the stability she deserves.

I do hope you adhere to Ean's vacation guidelines, though. Wouldn't want you to get into any more trouble than you're in already...

[Marcia]

Great article as usual Eric. After 10 cities in 20 years, I have to say that I love calling Denver home!

But am I the only hopeless romantic reading this who hopes that by the time Simone leaves for college, you aren't making those decisions alone? Rooting for The Dating Dad to find his true love!