Before all of this, I was already struggling. In early March, when many of us weren’t taking the coronavirus seriously, my partner staged an intervention.“You have not seemed happy in so long,” he said. “You cry all the time. I’m worried about you.”
I was feeling depressed, anxious, and isolated. A year ago, after living in big cities for three decades, we moved to Taos, New Mexico, a small town in the high desert, population 6,000.
It was a choice made out of necessity because it was affordable, and it was also a challenge to myself, as a journalist and as a person, to push myself to grow.
We moved into a small adobe-style house, 30 minutes north of town, situated in a rolling expanse of sage. The gray-green brush stretches on for so long, and grows so tall, that it sometimes feels like we’re living waist deep in an ocean.
