Break-Up Letter to Denver

Sometimes you need to leave a letter on the nightstand and get outta town…

Dear Denver,

I’m breaking up with you. We both know this has been a long time coming. I have certainly threatened it numerous times. No, no. It’s not you. Well, maybe it’s a little you. But, in reality, you’re lovely. There are so many things about you that I love. Skiing, mountains, Colfax, burritos. In fact, I am sitting in Tattered Cover as I write this, and boy will I miss Tattered Cover. I don’t even want to talk about the weather. Your weather is damn near perfect, albeit a little dry. Despite all the wonderful things about you, you’re just not for me. It’s just not working.

We’ve had some good times. You taught me to ski. You taught me that sometimes a breakfast burrito can fill the void of a breakfast sandwich. You made me new pals. You gave me my only relationship in over a decade, for a time. You showed me beautiful vistas, and mountain towns, and peaks I never would have thought I could have summited. That’s all been great. Shoot, I got a mountain tattoo, you know it had to mean something.

Even professionally, it hasn’t been all bad. I’ve met some wonderfully amazing, challenging, hilarious, and intelligent students. Really top-notch kids. My passion for equity and quality in education has become more informed, more targeted, and I hope I don’t lose sight of that. Even in some of my least-loved jobs I have made amazing friends and met really wonderful people.

While I cherish those memories, they don’t change the fact that you broke me. I came to Denver a confident, capable person. I had pep in my step, stars in my eyes. Then, six years later, I found myself in a heap. I had been dashed against the rocks, time and time again. I take credit for mistakes I’ve made in this time, but it was those mistakes coupled with circumstance that lead me to a dark night in November when I finally meant it when I said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

It was not only that you had robbed me of money, career prospects, or “success,” but you had robbed me of my confidence. That is something I cannot allow. I no longer had faith in myself, in my work. It turns out that confidence is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy; if you don’t think you can, you can’t.

So, I’m taking it back. I am taking myself back. I can no longer pretend to pander to this job market, to those who are not worthy, to those who doubt me and make me doubt myself. I know this is hard, it is hard for me too. Know that I think of you kindly. We can still be friends, maybe even hook up every now and then. I’ll be back to share a meal or a drink or a friendly ski. We just can’t live together anymore. I hope you understand.

Warmest regards,

Katie