Denver, like many cities west of the Mississippi, is growing by leaps and bounds. Anywhere you look there is something being built, torn down, or repaved, seemingly overnight. From mega-apartment buildings to hipster-central breweries, Denver, my city, is hardly recognizable some days.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a supporter of progress and the benefits of growth for a city’s economy. Got it. But wouldn’t it also be grand if some of Denver’s western grit could stay despite the new organic, gluten-free, grain-free, cage-free, conflict-free restaurant opening up next door?
Wait, did you just say gluten-free, grain-free restaurant…where? In the perfect words of Tina Fey, “I want to go to there.”
Like Denver, I am also under construction of sorts. Just over 100 days ago (not that I’m counting or anything) I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. Ugh, I still don’t like to say it out loud. It feels uncomfortable, kind of like a pair of jeans that are still wet from the wash but you wear them anyway because you have nothing else to wear. Yes, that kind of uncomfortable.
I am happy to report that the initial shock of the diagnosis has worn off but the realization that my personal construction zone is just beginning has started to sink in. My life, like Denver, doesn’t look the same as it used to.
But perhaps this is misleading.
Sure, I don’t eat bread, cheese, eggs or any sort of grain anymore, and I take a variety of fun pills throughout the day, and perhaps my future isn’t as clear as it once was, but I am still me. And more importantly, this construction zone is controlled by me.
So, my beloved city of Denver, I feel you. You may be covered in scaffolding and have potholes the size of New Hampshire that need fixing but you are still the city I love, even if you are being overrun by beards and ironic glasses. The true Denver, western grit and independence, is still here – I feel it.
How about you and I rebuild together, mmmmkay?
Welcome to the tradegy, readers, whoever you are. I hope you stay awhile.