A window to the soul
Sep. 29—If you're reading this, you obviously harbor a healthy interest in the arts, and you probably view Northern New Mexico through the same prism I do.
Yes, it's objectively beautiful here. People treat one another well. In Santa Fe County alone, one could visit a new gallery every weekday for more than a year. On certain fall days, when the sun bathes the landscape from an unexpected angle and the air is so clear one can see individual trees on the surrounding mountains, this might be the finest place on earth.
And yet, for every easily identifiable attribute one can list about this place, there are dozens that can only be appreciated by people who have the patience and awareness to look and listen. During my first four months in Santa Fe, I gawked at the stately trees and marveled at the beautiful art that seemed to be everywhere, even in greasy-spoon diners. I sensed that I was receiving some sort of message, but it was mostly static.
On a random January morning, I awakened, and the static was gone. In its place was a clear message: "You are home now. Stop worrying about having some grand purpose in this world and potentially not living up to it. Your job is simply to make it just a little better, starting with being kind."
These are two of the most consequential realizations of my life, and Santa Fe led me to them. This prompted another epiphany: The best things this region has to offer cannot be purchased. One can buy a look-at-me sports car; one cannot buy listen-to-Earth sensibilities.
In the spring, a friend who now lives in Austin, Texas, contacted me about a possible visit to Santa Fe. I've worked in seven states over my career, and never before had I been so excited to show someone where I lived. After all, Santa Fe isn't just a home; it is home. I emailed friends and contacts around Santa Fe and along the Turquoise Trail, letting them know I'd be showing a friend around. I secured Meow Wolf tickets. I selected restaurants that would offer variety while all providing a distinctly New Mexico dining experience.
The friend had very different ideas. The night before we met for breakfast, she walked around downtown, alone. By the time we dined together, she had made up her mind that Santa Fe was a tourist trap — and wasn't interested in any of the experiences I'd arranged for us. Instead, she wanted to drive to Red River to look at property she was interested in buying.
I agreed to accompany her on the drive to Red River, and I arranged for us to take the back route through Cundiyo, Peñasco, and Vadito. New Mexico's historic villages fill me with hope. The friend opined that these towns were poor, and that she'd felt bad driving her fancy car through them.
That's when the perception thing hit me. We were viewing the same sights but were not seeing the same New Mexico. She can afford to buy property, and I envy her that. But I realized that preoccupation with material things can block some of the best human experiences — including the experience of wanting to understand.
I write this as a reminder, to myself and to you. In a pricey town where the bills can pile up, it's easy to envy people who seemingly have it made. During that fateful drive to and from Red River, I was reminded of just how much more there is in the world — and how lucky many of us are to see it.
Brian Sandford, Staff Writer
