My husband tried to show me several different options for rental homes as he prepared to book our trip to New Mexico, but once I saw the log cabin with the mountain view and hot tub out back, I pushed the computer right back onto his lap. “That is my dream house!” I declared. “Why would we stay anywhere else? Hell, let’s move there! Can you ask if the owner wants to sell?”
When you know, you know, and if there’s one thing I’ve discovered about myself in the 22 years since I moved to Pennsylvania — I mean, other than the fact that I cannot f*ck with alcohol — and married a man from the Pocono region, it is that I am 100% a mountain girl. Mountains >> The Shore all day, every day. Give me crisp, dry air, tall trees, big rocks, wide open skies where you can see all the stars, and peace and quiet with as few people as possible….
And roosters crowing in the distance just before dawn. 🐓🌅 I’m adding that one after our recent visit to the “Land of Enchantment,” because the chorus of cock-a-doodle-doos that accompanied my morning coffee breaks and yoga sessions on the deck of the cabin made the whole “retreat from reality” experience all the more enchanting.
I caught a few of them in this audio clip:
Some people seemed skeptical when I told them we were going to Albuquerque to celebrate my graduation from DelVal — I’m officially an MA, as of May 11, with a master’s in counseling psychology! — and my husband’s four-week sabbatical, which he earned after seven years as a rising star at his company.
Apparently, ABQ is not a destination that springs to folks’ minds when they think “dream vacation,” but it made perfect sense for us.
We’re hikers, first of all, and after traversing trails in Maine and the Grand Canyon of PA in the last two years, we yearned for something new and different. In terms of geography, climate, flora and fauna, New Mexico is absolutely that.
We’re also pop culture people, and Albuquerque has a connection to — actually, it’s a key character in — some of our all-time favorite TV series.
Obviously, “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul” were set here, as well as the “El Camino” made-for-Netflix movie, and the best way to gauge the impact these stories had on me is to note: I cried at the end of all three, and that definitely didn’t happen with “The Sopranos” or “Game of Thrones”! I previously expounded on my obsession for the Vince Gilligan universe here and here, so I won’t go on to belabor the point.
There’s also the Isotopes, a real-life minor league baseball team named after the team in “The Simpsons,” which also popped up in “Better Call Saul” a few times. In a classic “Simpsons” episode, Homer exposes a plot to move Springfield’s resident sports franchise to ABQ, and when the real town ran a contest back in 2003 to name its new team, the voters’ choice was obvious. Today, the Isotopes are the AAA Pacific Coast League affiliate of the Colorado Rockies.
All the above gave us plenty to do on our non-hiking days. We got Sunday afternoon Isotopes tickets and were surprised to see former Cubs superstar Kris Bryant DHing for the home team on a rehab stint (he stunk, but the ‘Topes won.) While the free giveaway was a camo hat, that didn’t stop us from loading up on souvenirs…
We did NOT, however, find a rear view mirror dangler like the ones in Jeff’s cab and Kim’s pro bono case in “Better Call Saul.” The guy in the stadium gift shop shut me down immediately: “We get asked A LOT, but no, they only made those as props for the show.” 🫤
So, the very next day, we embarked on our scavenger hunt through the city and surrounding areas with the superbly detailed “Breaking Bad Tour” wikitravel page as our guide — and an unobstructed view through the windshield. We also managed not to get arrested for trespassing. Or heckled by homeowners.
For many years, looky-loos like me have been posting horror stories online about their negative interactions with the residents of Walter White’s house, and I decided I’m too much of a rule-following people-pleaser to risk a run-in; so, much to Hubby’s chagrin, we bypassed “308 Negra Arroyo Lane.”
By the way, big s/o to him for being our driver for the entire trip, but especially on that day. ABQ is a large city, and these spots are not all clustered close together.
What do you think? Did my drive-by photojournalism do them justice? 👀
After an entire day sitting in traffic playing the quintessential obnoxious tourists — OK, so I was the obnoxious one, barking out things like, “Hey, do you think that’s where Marie worked?” when we passed a random radiology center, and, “Hey! Lalo couldn’t really have staked out the laundry from across the street! There’s no drainage slot cut out in the curb!” 🤣 — we were eager to get out in nature and move around with our own two feet.
Of course, we quickly exposed ourselves as out-of-towners yet again, hitting the popular Pino Trail in the Cibola National Forest (elevation between 6,400 and 9,300 feet) at a Tyler State Park (236 ft.) pace, and huffing and puffing through a rather rough 9-mile rookie initiation. Yikes! “Mountain girl,” indeed! 🥵
Fortunately, it seems our hearts and lungs just needed a little conditioning, and Day 2 on the Embudito Trail in the Sandia foothills (entrance just a block from the Schrader residence!) was considerably easier. The hot, dry, rocky desert terrain felt like a playground; having to actually climb, rather than just walk uphill, made things infinitely more interesting.
Day 3 found us driving 1.5 hours up to a remote ski area outside Santa Fe, where the temperature was a good 30 degrees cooler — and the trail markings were even more scarce (they don’t really do signs or spray paint in the Southwest). While our bodies were beat and the Big Tesuque/Aspen Vista seemed like a never-ending, monotonous climb, the waterfalls and snowy embankments we saw up there made the struggle worthwhile.
As we hiked, I couldn’t help thinking that New Mexico would be a spectacular place to build an ecotherapy practice. Between the empowering physical challenges of scaling mountainsides — and descending them; I actually feel like it’s easier to go up than come down — the breathtaking vistas from both high and low perspectives, and the myriad, novel elements of the environment to stimulate and engage the senses, the Land of Enchantment lives up to its name. There’s also the rich, complicated history of the land and its connection to Native people and culture; as with any open space in colonialist/capitalist America, this has been a source of trauma and can be a tool for healing.
New Mexico also struggles with widespread substance use (particularly alcohol) and related issues (particularly homelessness and crime) among its residents, if we needed more evidence that I’m stepping onto an important new career path (I am supposed to start my first post-grad job as an outpatient therapist on June 10. 😬)
Exploring New Mexico, and, for 48 hours, Colorado, and, for about 30 seconds, those two states plus Arizona and Utah at the Four Corners Monument, was just a more elaborate (and expensive) version of my lifelong go-to self-soothing strategy: get outside and move my body.
Even for the 20 years I was drinking, this was the most effective way I ever found to calm my nervous system and quiet my brain — apart from sleeping. Hiking, running, skating, skiing…outdoor activities really did make me feel enchanted, like I was under some kind of wonderful spell, but a natural, healthy one. Not drug-induced.
Nature and movement have been absolutely essential to my quality of life — and ability to function in society — since I quit chasing the artificial high of alcohol. Sobriety, as it does, unmasked my highly sensitive temperament and brought my issues with anxiety screaming to the surface, just as I hit my 40s and perimenopause arrived, bringing a whole different brand of insanity.
I spent our entire week away ramping up to the monthly red zone, which meant a steady increase in irritability and rapid decrease in distress tolerance, and to avoid morphing from “human being on holiday” to “feral beast with bloodlust,” I needed all the fresh air and exercise I could manage to work into each day. I did light yoga out on the deck and even drove down to Albuquerque’s city pedestrian trail for early morning jogs prior to hiking the mountains with Hubby.
But therapy, eco or otherwise, only goes so far, and I still occasionally found myself lost in a brain fog, unable to find words when I needed them, weeping at random times for no real reason, and feeling an intense aversion to social interaction that bordered on — OK, maybe actually bled into — dysfunctional.
The worst was when we visited downtown Santa Fe; one second I was reading the Prayer of Saint Francis on the wall of his grand Cathedral Basilica and feeling one with the universe, and the next I was shooting dirty looks at teenagers standing around yapping in the historic Loretto Chapel, or silently raging at meandering pedestrians in the Plaza who happened to cross our path and disturb our peace. 😤
As fate would have it, my period came just as we were visiting Mesa Verde National Park on Memorial Day weekend, and we found ourselves shuffling along the hiking trails amid loud, slow-moving crowds, with no real way to break free that didn’t involve shoving some kid off a cliff. “This is a perfect chance to practice your patience!” Hubby chirped as I glared fiery lasers back at him, then scrambled up a jagged rock face like a salamander to get around the group ahead of us. The level of agitation I was feeling throughout what was supposed to be a leisurely Sunday unnerved me to the point that I Googled, “Why am I so afraid of people?” when we got back to our AirBNB in Mancos that evening.
The likely answer: Old Lady Hormones. Duh!
Perimenopause is a mofo, no doubt, but the truth is that I’ve got issues dealing with people — in general, not just once a month. I’ve struggled with it my whole life, and the reason I’ve continued to avoid tackling it by any means necessary is simple: It’s incredibly f*cking hard.
In case anyone out there thought you get “fixed” when you put down the bottle and find other ways to cope with life, I’m here to tell you that sobriety ain’t no magic wand. Even when you’re past the point of even thinking about drinking when you’re triggered (which I am; hallelujah! 🙏🏻) you still have to actively, intentionally work at coping. And when one method stops working, you need to try something else. And sometimes, that might mean seeking help from medical or mental health professionals instead of trying to muddle through all on your own. 🤔
Similarly, you don’t leave all your ugly shit behind when you jet off on a dream vacation, or cleanse all your toxic traits by breathing cleaner, thinner, drier air, and just like you couldn’t drink your way out of your own skin or away from your unresolved issues, you can’t hike out, either.
I mean, when it comes to rejuvenating your overtaxed nervous system or improving your overall quality of life, it certainly helps if you can find a log cabin with a mountain view and a hot tub out back and roosters crowing in the distance at dawn, and you have a loved one willing to take you there. But it also doesn’t hurt to use your down time to take stock, to look closer at who you have become and think critically about who you want to be.
Recovery is supposed to be about ongoing growth, and it’s helpful from time to time to identify all the spots where you remain stuck or stagnant. It’s helpful, as I stand on the threshold of a new career and near the five-year mark in my sobriety journey, to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned so far and acknowledge the aspects of my future that I can, vs. those I cannot, control.
Living on autopilot for a little while is perfectly OK, but it’s like Jane tells Jesse in the “Breaking Bad” saga, you can keep on “going where the universe takes you,” but “it’s better to make those decisions for yourself.” When Skyler White makes her pilgrimage to Four Corners (not a short drive from ABQ, BTW) looking for an answer to her life’s biggest question, she initially plans to leave it up to the coin, then makes the choice to direct her own fate with an intentional swipe of her foot. Even Walt, faced with terminal cancer, refuses to coast through his remaining time on Earth; for better or worse, he chooses to go down with his foot on the gas.
What drives us to choose paths of danger, destruction, or stagnation, is what makes the study of human behavior, in fiction and reality, so damn fascinating.
I guess the main message I’m receiving right now, from both art and life, is that there is magic to be found in surrender, but you also have the power to wave your own wand. That happens to be the first and most basic message you receive in recovery, from the Serenity Prayer.
Funny how sometimes you have to get away from it all to come back to your roots!
Jen Wielgus Journalism 