The move has been extensive, and the discoveries were inevitable, but I’d totally forgotten about the adult diapers.

I’m moving out of the place I’ve lived in for the last few years, a three-bedroom apartment that’s been in my circle of friends for just short of a decade. Before that I lived in about ten different places my first few years in Durango, house sitting, going month-to-month, doing whatever it took to do this dance that is called the Durango Tango.

A version of this story was published in the Durango Telegraph

So to stay in this place for three years was a welcome respite from moving around all the time. I wrote my memoir in this house, and it’s been the best era of my life yet. The place sits up on a hill and overlooks Durango, damn we are lucky people to dwell here, and that view reminded me of that every day.

I’ve found some relics in the house that have reminded me of each friend who lived here before me, or with me. There’s the Van Halen 1984 framed album cover that Mike left behind—maybe his wife made him leave that, or maybe he wanted me to have something to reminisce about our days together—they are in the Dominican Republic now, haven’t seen those two in years and don’t know when I will again. Then there’s Micha, who I was reminded of while cleaning out the bathroom, she was The Best Roommate Ever, and we got along famously, but she was a little absent minded when it came to chores: she left behind all sorts of toiletries that I had to sort through yesterday. It’s amazing what you’ll put up with when you like someone.

The adult diapers, fortunately, weren’t found in the bathroom, they were in the costume box. You see one roommate I had, we’ll just call him “B” for privacy sake, well, he had an adult diaper fetish. I guess the word fetish might go too far, that makes me think of foot stuff, but let’s just say this guy genuinely enjoyed the thrill of dressing up in scantily clad costumes at the adult diaper was his standby.

One of my favorite all time party nights in Durango was the first time I saw him in a diaper. He was dressed up as “Super Baby” for a superhero costume birthday party. I’ll never forget, it was just a normal Saturday afternoon in broad daylight and our motley crew of thirty some people paraded around town, led by a man wearing an adult diaper and a cape/bib that read “Super Baby”. I can only imagine what impression we left on an innocent tourist, and what they thought of this town. Whatever they thought it was probably accurate.

That was not last time that “B” dressed up in a diaper. He never seemed to run out of variations. Once he was a Calvin Klein underwear model that wore a diaper; other times he’d mix it up and wear speedos. Now that I write this out I think he just liked being as close to naked as possible in public.

I was more than grateful for this wild friend, I moved to Durango at 32 years old, ready for personal reinvention, but old enough to realize it might not take. My best friend Tim moved to Durango right around when I did (fun fact about Tim he enjoys wearing children’s dresses for costume parties, God, that sounds worse to write out than the adult diaper fetish) but other than that I didn’t really have any close friends when I landed here.

I didn’t want to completely change who I was in Durango, but I wanted to grow. I knew I couldn’t do that without a community, and building community takes time. Somehow through “B” and all the crazy costume and dance parties I got invited to, I started to build. Seemingly every other person in this town has some sort of creative impulse.

Most of all, above anything and everything I really wanted to become an artist. I’d achieved “success” in my career by securing a public relations writing job, but I watched my soul slip away with each piece of propaganda I created. A poet can only go down one type of road, and its not the path that immediately goes toward financial security and a solid retirement plan, those things may come later, but the poet has to go right towards The Truth.

Just as quickly as I became a member of the community, friends started leaving. I learned that ambitious people in certain fields can only advance so far in our little mountain nest. Or people just get restless and want to see the world. I feel like every other week an intelligent friend is leaving, to New Zealand, or to Denver, following relationships or education or adventure.

Durango ended up being that perfect fit for me, like Forrest Gump in the Army. I can still grow in the realm of writing and advance my career, while being supported by our community; I feel lucky for that one. I often hear the regret of leaving Durango in this voice of my friends who moved to locales like Denver. “It’s okay,” they say, with an enunciation of nostalgia for the Durango lifestyle, but probably not the Durango Tango.

As for “B” well he must have gotten that diaper fetish out of his system, because he’s deeply committed to his spiritual path these days, and doesn’t drink or party any more. I respect him for that, but I miss those days. Gosh, it seemed like I just moved here, but when I look back at all the friends who have come and gone, it reminds me that certain eras of life flash by so quickly.

And I’m settled. I’ll sip a beer during happy hour, or after a long night at the restaurant I work at (yes, I still dance the Tango) but I can’t remember the last time I closed down the bar. On the heels of 40 years old that is appropriate, what was once fun, becomes pathetic and sad. As the rappers say, “You gotta know your lane” and mine is the one going Subaru slow.

Well, I better get back to moving, who knows what other gems I might find, reminding me of the other people I’ve shared this place with. And, if you need some adult diapers, or a “Super Baby” outfit, give me a shout.

I am the author of four books, which can be purchased below. In 2017 I will publish, The Creek, a series of essays on Indian Creek, and begin working on a novel. 

American Climber                       

americanclimber_cover-1Graduating From College Me 


The Great American Dirtbags 


Climbing Out of Bed


You can also subscribe to my indie mag, The Climbing Zine, “America’s Creative Climbing Publication”.