Talisman

As we approach the one year anniversary of our move to Colorado, I thought I'd share something I wrote about the power one object held over to me as we planned for the move.

In the fall of 2019, I sat on the porch of the Garden of the Gods resort admiring the view. The striking red rock formations shimmered in the evening sun, framing the mountains in the distance. The pool gleamed with the reflection of the peak that inspired Katherine Lee Bates’ “America the Beautiful.”

Although I’d woken to frigid temperatures which prevented my water bottle from thawing on my morning run, the sun’s intensity was now strong enough to compensate for the slight breeze, and I was comfortable in the sandals and knee-length dress that had seemed incompatible with Colorado weather only hours before.

We had just wrapped up my childhood friend’s wedding rehearsal, and I was waiting for her to finish a conversation with her parents.

View from the Garden of the Gods Resort

The day before, I had flown in from Stillwater, Oklahoma by way of the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport. Because I had to cancel the classes I was teaching, I had assigned an online discussion board and promised to check-in via email. My computer was sitting back at the Airbnb, a reminder of the tether academia had on me.

My friend soon returned to the table bearing gift bags for each of the bridesmaids. “A small token of my appreciation for you traveling all this way.” I pulled out the pink, flowery robe that the bride’s sister had brought back from Hong Kong and peeked in at the other gifts: a small bottle of champagne that I would need to drink before flying back, a few other travel essentials, and an oversized Colorado-themed Starbucks mug.

Initially, I wondered how I would get the mug back in one piece. It was quite large, and I didn’t have a lot of extra room in the one carry-on I’d brought. I reminded myself, however, that I’d successfully returned with the teapots and cups I’d purchased while studying abroad in London. The tried-and-true procedure: stuff with socks, wrap with clothing, nestle in the middle of the bag. It would make it, and if it didn’t, it was just a Starbucks mug. Obviously well-made, but nothing that couldn’t be replaced.

When I returned, I washed the mug, setting it on the shelf with the rest of our mix-matched collection. I used it occasionally, but not often, as I was more inclined to grab a travel mug or a shaker bottle on my way out the door for my 6AM workout class.

***

Then the pandemic hit. When spring break ended, classes went completely online. I was home every day, only braving the grocery store when the item I needed could not be obtained through curbside pickup. It wasn’t long before I found myself pulling the Colorado mug out on a daily basis.

If it wasn’t clean in the morning, I’d grab it off my desk, rinse it out, and refill it. The mug became part of my new routine. Like the sourdough starter and bread making process, which I started that summer, using the mug became something I could control. Make the coffee, knead the bread, set aside a few hours a week to write, wash and reuse the Colorado mug.

***

In the fall of 2020, my husband and I started thinking about moving. My three-year contract was coming to an end, and I’d previously promised myself I would not continue under the “visiting” umbrella for another year.

V was now in first grade, and he was completing the year remotely. We realized that this might be as good of a time as any to move. V would start second grade with a new group of kids—kids who were also returning after a year of at least partial remote learning. Everyone would be on the same page. Besides, he was still young enough to make new friends without being too devastated by who he had to leave behind.

But, where would we go? We started a list of must-haves in our new location. We agreed on some: opportunities to get outside and be active, mostly sunny skies (after living in The Netherlands, we realized we were both affected by the constant cloudiness), natural beauty, within budget. My husband wanted to avoid anywhere subject to hurricanes. I preferred a city since I was about to make a career shift.

We made a list of possible locations and started doing some research, weighing possible new spots against our criteria. One by one, we crossed places off the list.

And yet, both of us kept coming back to Colorado. J and V were both excited about the trout fishing; I was excited the sunlight. J and I both had fond memories of childhood visits to Colorado, and I’d grown up with family scattered around the state. Colorado in many ways already felt familiar, a place I was meant to be. We knew we wanted to be close to the mountains and started looking at possible locations within the state. After weighing cost, size, and access to the mountains, we settled on Colorado Springs and decided we needed to move by the time our lease in Oklahoma was over.

***

The mug that had once been a generic piece of ceramic from an overpriced coffee shop became a symbol of what was to come. Each morning, as I filled the mug with pour-over coffee, I felt myself fill with determination. The columbine, big horn sheep, skis, and mountains became key to visualizing a new life in a new destination.

The mug served as a reminder of the internal refrain in my head: This is the goal. We can do this. One step at a time. One sip at a time. Just like the bread. Just like my half marathon training. Colorado, I read on the mug. Our new home, I thought.

Colorado Mug

But the mug was more than symbolic. I became obsessed with keeping the mug intact. With so many unknowns and so many tasks to come, keeping the vessel whole became something I could and had to control daily. If the Colorado mug remained whole and unchipped, this impossible dream would also stay intact. The mug became a talisman, protecting our dream of creating a new and magical reality for ourselves.

As we checked off tasks in preparation for the move, I held onto the mug, often with both hands. It became an unspoken rule in our house that no one else was to handle it, let alone drink out of it. I was responsible for keeping it in safe, and in return it would safely deliver us to Colorado.

At one point, I searched for a backup for the enchanted vessel, only to find that they were sold out everywhere but eBay and thus marked up to an astronomical rate. I wasn’t sure a replacement would hold the same power anyway.

***

When it was time to pack, the mug was one of the last items that I boxed up. My cheeks grew warm and the corners of my mouth upturned as I wrapped it in bubble wrap and nestled it into the moving box. We had done it.

Upon arriving in Colorado, I unpacked the mug with the rest of the dishes and placed it on the shelf with the other mugs. I’m still the only one who uses it and I still drink out of the mug on most days, but it doesn’t have the same power over me.

Last week, I noticed the Starbucks in Target had received a full shipment of mugs identical to the one that now sits dirty on the top of my desk. They not only carried the oversized mugs with the Colorado design but also travel mugs and espresso cups. The plenitude of the matching mugs in Target seemed to confirm the dissolution of what had made the mug unique. It was just a Starbucks mug, an overpriced symbol of corporate America. While I still enjoy the weight and feel of the drinking vessel, now it holds only coffee, not promises.