It’s not much of a curse, more of a blessing.
Most hometowns in America, the children can’t wait to get away, move to the big city. Same with Boulder, Colorado—only they come right back, more often than not, after realizing that the rest of the world, while cooler, more cultured, with more history, more bars, more going on…isn’t full of bike paths, mountain hikes five minutes out of downtown, and good people doing good work. I dunno. I can’t explain it—maybe that’s why they call it a curse. There’s some weird magic in it.
Story was, Chief Niwot, a peaceable Native American chief who was savaged by our early white mining settlers and their double-talking ways, said: all ye who look upon the Flatirons (our iconic mountains, which are to Boulder as the Empire State Building is to NYC or Golden Gate Bridge is to SF) will be doomed to forever return.
I’m not complaining. For years I’ve been working my arse off, to little effect, broke and stuck here without dough to fly away, just trying to pay my crazy Boulder mortgage and build a national media vehicle, first magazine now web site and talk show…and I wouldn’t rather’ve been stuck in any city in America, just about.
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