January 2026. I am writing a new novel, and I am knee-deep in it. Like that moment in the show, Girls, where Charlie reads Hannah’s diary, causing him and Marnie to break up, and Hannah’s obtuse response is, “If you didn’t know the characters in the story, would you consider it good writing?” — this is what I mean when I say that I am knee-deep into my current writing project. This temper is what ignited my decision to go on a journey across state lines to conduct some interviews.
My first destination was Ojo, New Mexico, and that is what I will be writing about. My plan was to meet one of the characters in my story and interview him in person. My story takes place twenty-five years ago, and I was really looking forward to hearing Jay’s perspective on what he recalls from the specific times I am writing about. I also hadn’t seen him in over ten years and was looking forward to a dinner meeting with an old friend.
Sunday night I packed my bags for the trip. I was planning to leave about 7:45 a.m. Monday morning and return the very next day. I would only have a little over 24 hours to spend in Ojo and conduct my interview in its entirety with Jay. I was feeling slightly apprehensive and wanted to be thorough with my packing, trying to remember everything I would need to feel completely comfortable, even for such a short time.
I sent Jay a text message around 7:00 p.m. Sunday before I left, “Hi honey! I’m so excited to see you tomorrow! Should we meet about 3:30?”
Jay answered, “Yess. I’ll see you there at 3:30. Is that good? Hope I can sleep tonight. What time’s your check in? I’ll get a day pass to use the pools. Bring a cozy robe.”
I said “My check in is at 3:00 p.m. so let’s plan to meet at 3:30! I’m wishing you a good night sleep!! Heart kiss.”
I continued to pack my bag. I decided to leave my Louis Vuitton carry-on at home and just take a black mesh bag from Tutela Handbags and my oversized white fun-fur Kate Spade bag. I was picturing a maid or someone getting into my room and taking my bag, completely knowing that this was just pointless paranoia, but I stuck with my decision. Better to be inconspicuous, I decided — don’t call any attention to yourself. This seemed like good advice for a solo female traveler.
I packed two outfits, one for dinner with Jay, and one for the long five-hour drive ahead of me. I packed a workout outfit and two swimsuits, along with my pink shower shoes. This seemed correct. I packed my toiletries, my charger, my computer, and Little Women — just in case I somehow had time to read a 700 page novel in between preparing for my interview, soaking in the hot springs at Ojo, getting a massage, and having dinner and drinks and a fun reunion with Jay.
I still felt a little apprehensive. I was going to wake up early, go straight to Enterprise car rental, get on the highway and rely on Google Maps for the next five hours as I drove solo and listened to books on Audible, to Ojo Caliente, a place where I had never been.
Now, I am no stranger to solo travel. In fact I do it probably seventy-five percent of the time. So that is not why I was feeling nervous. I think it was just the long drive, being on the highway, and driving a car that I was unfamiliar with. I took a deep breath, got into bed, and just tried to settle and be with my resolve. I wasn’t going to change my mind. I was leaving in the morning.
Monday morning came more quickly than expected. It felt like I had only just closed my eyes when my alarm was sounding. I hit snooze. Mornings are really hard for me. I have never been one of those people who just springs up with the sun, recharged and full of enthusiasm. That is not me. I hit snooze and I got up at 7:45. This was the time that I was hoping to get on the road. Well, I decided to switch to plan number two, where I leave at 8:30 and hope to arrive at Ojo at 1:30 p.m. The problem was that this second plan created a layer of angst as I felt like I was running late. I had scheduled a non-refundable massage at 2 p.m., and even if it was refundable, my time constraints did not permit me to miss this appointment.
There was nothing to do but to keep moving. I grabbed my bags and ran out the door. My son dropped me off at Enterprise car rental, and after a short pained conversation with the representative about where I was going, (I wasn’t sure if I should be divulging the fact that I was about to drive his vehicle for ten hours total), I got into the small Nissan Versa and was out onto the highway.
The morning was welcoming, the sun was shining at a respectable rate, not too brightly, not too hot. I turned on my Audible app and began listening to this month’s book club selection, killing two birds with one stone. I have been spread so thin lately that even trying to find the time to read for book club seems an insurmountable feat. So there it was, I was getting the book checked off my to-do list.
Going towards a place always takes longer. The minutes just stretch themselves out, and you have to weigh them with such determined grace, and pace yourself so that you don’t get too excited or too unsure.
I drove south for a hundred and sixty miles before I was directed by Google Maps into strange areas that I have never seen before. I saw long desolate stretches of land. The kind that make you think about the Native Americans hundreds of years ago. The kind that remind you how different our country is from Europe — so underdeveloped, so without long history, weight, or the richness of a millennia of existence. I saw small towns with liquor stores and gun shops, dollar stores, and Western Unions. I saw retired train cars, and dilapidated covered wagons. I saw ramshackle barns, horses, cows, a man riding through the hills on a burro. The closer I got to Ojo I saw broken-down pickup trucks, and adobe structures, I saw trailer-parks, stray dogs, graffiti, cacti, and abandoned, wooden buildings with caved-in roofs. There were short grasses and shrubs, pinon, pine oak, and juniper, and you could smell the pinon the moment you crossed the state line into New Mexico.
At one point I made what seemed to be a quick turn onto a small road and suddenly, unexpectantly, I was driving across the terrifying Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. That seemingly sharp right turn was onto route 64 near Taos, New Mexico, and led straight toward the bridge. Had I known what was coming I would have turned back.
Out ahead I saw what looked like a road that needed resurfacing lined with a shabby-looking narrow sidewalk. There was a sign that read “No walking across the bridge.” I hardly had a chance to process any of this in my thinking before I was out on the bridge and I saw the deep, wide, threatening gorge.
My stomach bottomed out like I had swallowed a brick, and the air squeezed from my lungs in a panic. “Keep your eyes forward. Keep your eyes forward,” I told myself. My palms were sweaty and I was nervous about holding the steering wheel for the few seconds that it took to cross the bridge. Maybe it was thirty seconds above that terrifying 600-foot drop. I couldn’t be sure because the seconds stretched out way longer than they should have. I considered pulling over to try and take a picture, but the thought of nearing that gorge was paralyzing.
Driving across the Rio Grande Gorge rekindled my general insecurity and the feelings of unsafety and instability that I have been working hard to release as my baseline identity over the last year. Seeing the plunging cliffs of that great gorge in the ground was so jarring that it was hard not to let all of the irrational fears of my past boil up to the surface and reveal themselves once again.
Feeling completely defenseless, I glanced to the right in the crossing twice before I was on the other side. I can’t say for sure how many seconds or minutes it took to cross the bridge because that was one of those times when the emotional weight of the experience puts time through a sieve of elongation; real time is distorted, pulled, thinned, turned inside out. But I got through to the other side. How easily I still slip into my past feelings of insecurity and distrust in the process of life. This realization was disappointing.
I remembered to try and draw the positive out of the moment, which is not instinctual, it is learned. I said to myself, “I am learning, I am choosing faith over fear, I have done my best, I am grateful, I choose peace.” Still my disposition had shifted after crossing the bridge, my confidence was faulty.
I drove on towards Ojo Caliente. I still had about thirty minutes before arriving. The car curled around the little streets, over small hills, through the pinon-juniper woodlands, gambel oak, scrub brush, sage, russian olive trees, and various cacti of the classic high-desert landscape. My car was the little engine that could.
I saw a man riding a donkey coming up the other side of the road. I smiled and waved at him, feeling a sense of relief and excitement as I got closer to Ojo. I grappled slightly with feelings of wanting to be at home, but I was looking forward to seeing the hot springs and meeting with Jay.
Soon I saw signs for Ojo. I saw a small inn, an old Native American pueblo, what seemed to be a private residence, a white house dotted with patches of cacti; I saw the Ojo fire department building, the Ojo farm, and then just around the bend was the entrance to Ojo Caliente mineral springs.
I was anxious upon arriving because I had tried my best to get there before 2:00 p.m. when my massage was scheduled. Because of construction and road blockages, it was 1:50 p.m. when I pulled into the parking lot. Normally I would have tried to have a least thirty minutes before going to an appointment at a place I hadn’t been before, so I was rushed, nervous, and stressed. I quickly parked in front of the main building and hurried inside to the front desk to check in. The lady at the desk hurried me toward the women’s locker room where I could find my massage therapist.
Chelsea, the massage therapist, was waiting outside the locker room for me with a white sign bearing my name. She gave me a minute in the women’s locker room to get my bearings and then I went in to get my massage.
It took me about thirty minutes to calm down after the rushed panic I was feeling and my five and a half hour drive from Colorado. I finally was able to begin letting the peace of Ojo begin to sink into my soul. I was determined to take advantage of my short time at the mineral springs and try to begin my new year on a better note — with peace in my heart, a reset and soothed nervous system, and the courage to keep moving forward on my path for the year.
After my massage I went back to the front desk to check in to my room. The lady behind the desk asked if I was having anyone join me because my room reservation said two people. I said yes, my friend, Jay, is going to meet me at 3:30 p.m. She instructed me to have him come to the desk and fill out a waver when he arrived and then she would give him his robe. I found my phone in my bag and started to text Jay these instructions.
When I opened my text app I was horrified to see a long string of text messages from Jay:
Mon, Jan 12 at 12:30 AM
“Wow. I was just thinking. Do you think if you put me as a guest in your room. Maybe I won’t have to pay for a day pass.?? Just thinking”
“It’s not that I can’t buy my day pass but why pay if not necessary”
Mon, Jan 12 at 6:50 AM
“Are you up? I haven’t slept. Panic all night. Are you going to be there tomorrow as well?”
Mon, Jan 12 at 8:09 AM
“Three nights ago I almost drove to the ER. Same thing. Anxiety and severe panic. From the withdrawal I suspect.”
“If I fall asleep here in the next hour I can sleep 6 hours and be there by 5 soke and have dinner with you. You’ll know if I’m asleep if I don’t respond. That means see you at 5. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s 9am. I assume you’re up by now.? Please text me if it’s ok to do this tomorrow I’m still awake.”
“Please communicate. Ok. I’m sticking to the 5 o’clock plan. If I can fall asleep and pass the anxiety on 1 hour. See you there.”
Mon, Jan 12 at 10:29 AM
“Oh no. Your refusing to communicate has heightened my anxiety and panic. Maybe I should have explained my withdrawal better, and the panic and anxiety etc. It’s 10:30. I’ll try and see you tomorrow.”
My heart began to beat loudly as I read these texts. I hadn’t seen any of this because I do not check my texts while driving, and especially when I’m driving on the highway. I didn’t look at my phone at all.
I responded:
Mon, Jan 12 at 2:59 PM
“Hi, honey I’m here! OMG I was driving and didn’t see your texts. Are you okay??”
“My room says 2ppl. Adding your name now!”
At this point I realized it is better to call him to avoid any further miscommunication. I dial and he does not pick up. He responds saying that he is on the phone with doctors, and that he is in the ER. He says:
“I’ve been texting you all day and last night. Did you read my texts? You’re not showing any emotion. Concerning. You don’t read my text knowing we were going to meet. What?”
This threw me even further as I had trusted that the text I sent him the night before saying see you tomorrow at 3:30, had been acknowledged and confirmed by both of us. I say,
“I am so sorry I went to bed and then got up and just got in the car and drove. I didn’t see my texts. I’m so sorry! I am so sorry about the confusion. I will be here until about 1pm tomorrow. Please take care of yourself! Your wellbeing and health are most important!”
Jay says,
“There wasn’t any confusion. You just chose to not stay in communication from Denver to Ojo. Knowing we were meeting up. Bizarre behavior.”
I say,
“It wasn’t that. I was just driving. I wasn’t reading my phone. I’m so sorry. Please accept my apologies. I was just focused on driving. I went to bed about 9pm last night.”
Jay says,
“My problem. Sorry we missed each other. They’re giving me meds for panic. I’m just sleep deprived.”
We exchanged a few more texts after this, and Jay never came to meet me.
I went to my room feeling shocked and vulnerable. I was surprised that a man, an old friend, knew that I was traveling alone and did not have any qualms about not making sure I was safe or honoring his word to meet me. I floundered beneath Jay’s lack of good will. I called my best friend, Rocky, and told him the whole thing, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.
“I have lived too long and seen too many things to buy what this guy is selling. He’s not in the ER. What kind of person screws up, screws you over, and then blames you? A drug addict. That’s who does that.” Rocky said. “We are voting him off the island.”
I was fighting back the tears at this point. Rocky went on to say that I should use this time to my advantage, and write, and heal in the soaking pools, and eat a good dinner and just go home in the morning.
Riding on the strength of my best friend, I decided to venture out of my room. I put on my swimming suit and robe and cautiously walked out to the pools. It was amazing how battered I felt. Embracing the gumption to drive to another state by yourself, to a place you are unfamiliar with, to meet someone who ultimately does not show up for you, it was a whirlwind of emotion. I was feeling tattered and self-conscious. I wasn’t sure of the protocol of the place, so I stepped out with caution. I was the timid little girl that I try so hard to conceal.
It was 48 degrees outside and there were many bathers walking in swimsuits and shower shoes. They had acclimated to the temperature and were calm with an uncommon serendipitous resolve. There was no hint of overarching beauty, or putting on airs, or the need to be or be seen. I felt obvious, glaring; I was hoping that I could disappear somehow.
I walked cautiously around a few of the pools on the ground level of the healing sanctuary. I walked past the large pool, main bathhouse, the historic bathhouse, the upper and lower cliffside pools, the iron pool, and the soda pool. The soda pool was the one I bravely entered. It was enclosed and so I presumed safety and invisibility there. I stepped into the hot water and sat there for about 90 minutes.
The soda pool is said to aid in digestion and silence is required inside its walls. This was just what I needed. The walls were constructed of large stone rocks and slabs of varying size, and the sloping roof led down to a stained glass window with lights shining in the water below. As the night fell, the steam grew thicker and thicker in the small structure, creating a cloak with an almost forlorn quality. I loved it. Behind the shroud of fog I was invisible. My fellow bathers were silent and respectful as they cooperated in the peace, healing, and calming of our nervous systems.
When I mustered the nerve to get up and go back into my room it was just past dusk and the other patrons were coming into the restaurant for dinner. My room was just down a small dingy looking hall from the restaurant. My room was number 38. It was small and clean, with a tall queen-size bed with nice pillows and a graceful piece of timber mounted on the wall just above the headboard. I had a small bureau and a brown leather chair in the corner. There was a half bath and no shower in the room. There was no phone or television. The room was meant as a small sanctuary, a place of renewal, quiet, security, and peace — a sanctum.
I changed into my outfit that I brought to go to dinner with Jay and walked back down the hallway to the restaurant. I sat at the bar feeling lonely. I generally spend a lot of time alone, so this event shouldn’t have given rise to much sorrow, but the events of the whole day and the dismissal from Jay were weighing heavily on my heart.
The restaurant was once a mercado and was adjacent to the main building at Ojo Caliente. The lighting was dim, and the bar was dark wood that seemed old and ignored. The food was sourced from the two-acre Ojo Farm. I ordered a wonderful dinner from the bartender who looked to be Native American. She seemed unsure of herself much the same way that I did. She refused to meet my gaze, and she smiled with her mouth closed to conceal her poor teeth that looked brown and damaged. She didn’t seem wise, but she seemed gentle and tolerant.
I ate half my dinner and took the other half out to my car since there was no refrigerator in my room. It was now only 25 degrees outside so I knew my food would be okay.
I went back to my room and spent the rest of the evening writing until I feel asleep with my computer open on the bed. I hadn’t exactly released my sorrow but was able to sleep through the night relatively soundly.
On Tuesday morning, I was up and back out to the pools by 7:30 a.m. I decided to stay until 9:30 a.m. before heading back to Colorado. I had more heart this morning and wanted to make the most out of the healing opportunity of the pools. I walked through the silence and lightly snow-covered path and headed up a small staircase to the Terrace Vista pool. I sat alone in the water for over an hour absorbing the peace and tranquility of my surroundings. The pool was nestled in the raw of burnt-sienna-colored dessert cliffs, and the air was cold, fresh, and exhilarating.
Eventually an older couple came and got in the pool with me. I thought about how I love older people as I believe they are from a time that embraces a decency that has been lost in modern times. I shared the pool with them for another short amount of time and then got out and looked for the lithia pool. The lithia pool is intended for healing depression.
I descended the stairs of the terrace and got into a pool with a cliff wrapping around three sides. I thought it was the lithia pool but later learned that it was in fact the iron pool which is meant to aid your immune system. The floor of the pool was pebbles, and I loved the way they felt beneath my feet. I could feel the healing entering my body with each step I took. I sat there until 9:20, soaking and absorbing the wellness of the waters before I made my way back to my room planning my departure.
I felt anxious about the five-hour drive ahead and the prospect of crossing the Rio Grande Gorge but vowed to be strong and mentally prepared this time.
Before leaving I checked out at the desk and stopped in the gift shop where I got a few Ojo trinkets to bring home as gifts. I asked for directions to the nearest gas station and then I was back to the car and leaving Ojo Caliente. I still felt a little disassociated and knew I would be happy to be back in my own home.
I saw a small stray dog running between the cars in the parking lot on my way out. He looked like the Benji dog from the 1980s, some kind of small terrier I thought. I wanted to help him, but he ran off. Seeing stray dogs isn’t something that I am accustomed to, and I saw two more before I was back on the main highway. I tried without success to convince myself that the dogs were living their best life of freedom, like the Tramp in Disney’s Lady and the Tramp.
I was having a hard time shaking off the mishap with Jay. I listened to “Breathe It In” by Beautiful Chorus and tried to declare that I am in my higher mind and that I pardon Jay for hurting me. I said to myself, “I choose to foster forgiveness because I deserve peace. I consciously choose love, compassion, and mercy. I choose this for myself. I bring peace and transformation to my own heart. I am free.” I listened to the command of Beautiful Chorus; breathe it in, I thought, let it out, let it go.
I came around the corner at Ojo and was back out onto Highway 285. There was a southwestern, old-style structure, another stray dog, the Ojo Cemetery, a large mural of Guadelupe on a wavy tin wall which was obscuring a few old run-down trucks and a shabby looking structure. The stray dog flipped over an abandoned paper plate looking for food scraps before he continued his jog down the road.
I got out of the car at the gas station and mustered my New York exterior before I went inside the building to pay for my gas. I didn’t know what kind of characters I would find in the building. I was hoping it wouldn’t be any intolerant MAGA people. I was there alone without anyone to support me if I came up against any strange person.
Inside the gas station building the attendant was slightly pleasant and he was listening to country music. The store was a sad little ramshackle of a place with dark-blue walls, wire shelves, and items in boxes on the floor. I paid for my gas and bought a bag of chips and a milk. I left quickly and was back out onto Highway 285, onward for sixty-one miles.
Before I made my final departure I pulled over in the parking lot next to the Ojo Cemetery. I wanted to express my gratitude for the renewed sense of health that I had after being in the pools. I looked over into the small grounds of the cemetery. It looked as if a Dia de Los Muertos celebration may have gone on there. There was evidence of satin flowers surrounding headstones, and other items that seemed reminiscent of celebration.
I sat quietly in gratitude, and I texted Jeremy Wolf, my friend and spiritual teacher. I said,
“Hi Jeremy, Happy New Year! I’m driving home from Ojo Caliente hot springs. I was just thinking about you and how much learning you have helped me with. You are a true gift in this human incarnation and a channel. Thank you for shining the light on the path. For me and so many others. I am blessed to know you and call you my friend. So much love to you”.
Jeremy said,
“Ahh, thanks my friend. I’m so glad you’re getting to enjoy that beautiful place. It’s been years since I’ve been there. I’m so grateful for you, too!”
Feeling restored by this sentiment, I said my final goodbye to Ojo and headed back onto the highway. I hadn’t realized that the day before Google Maps took me on a strange and unnecessary route which was the only reason I had to cross the Rio Grande Gorge. Now Google Maps took me the easier, more-direct route, which was to stay on Highway 285 all the way into Colorado. Thank goodness!
Driving once again through the long stretches of desolate land I thought about life and years. I thought about Jeannie, my grandmother, I thought about my dad, I thought about my son. I thought about my daughter.
My dad was the oldest most important person to me, and my son was the youngest most important person to me. I tried to come up with a plan for how long I can live and be with my son and how long I can live and tolerate being without my dad. I began to cry. I thought about the years ahead, the half way mark of life, what was to come. I thought about living to be one hundred and four. I decided on this.
I turned right on Highway 161 and drove through small towns with strange buildings much like I had seen the day before. The small towns were full of people I didn’t know and didn’t inherently trust. I wouldn’t be eager to meet them. I drove through Alamosa, Colorado and remembered that my old assistant had been from there. I thought about how rowdy and unruly he is and attributed this to his having grown up in such a small, strange place. I was ready to be home.
Trying to assimilate all that happened in the last twenty-four hours, I declare that I see only good ahead of me. The open, clear expanse of land out in front of me was symbolic of this. Knowing who to trust is essential. Ojo rendered healing and clarity in a manner that was unexpected, and I honestly feel much better. I feel physically better than I have in over a year, my nervous system is soothed. I am calm. This was the ultimate reset. Mercy is the bridge to inner-peace. I am coming home. Thank you, Ojo.