I had an epiphany the other day. It was low key as epiphanies go, easily overlooked, but it illuminated an aspect of how life is lived in Durango. I’ll explain.
The day began with two of us standing in the early-morning quiet, not even a breeze stirring the air, waiting for the office doors to open. I glanced at the man standing there with me, figuring him for a bank executive.
When the electric eye kicked in and the doors opened, the man intoned: “Open sesame!” and gestured grandly with his hands, like a magician. We exchanged a look and a quick laugh, then went our separate ways.
I had some routine paperwork to sign with an office clerk, and I mentioned the executive’s “open sesame” comment. “Don’t you think that’s amazing?” I asked. “An executive acting silly? I was surprised.”
The clerk was on hold on the phone, and half-listening to me, replied, “It doesn’t surprise me.” He paused and added, “I take it for granted. I’ve lived in Durango a long time. People have the freedom to be themselves here.”
When I met a girlfriend for lunch a bit later, I was telling her about an event I’d attended. I complained that I didn’t have that attractive “Durango Casual” style. “I never feel I look au courant. I wish I could do it right like the women here: earth tones, quality fabrics, subtle accents, a designer-made backpack or purse!” And I kept going on about the recognizable “’Durangoan Look,’ etc., etc.”
My friend stopped me. “Jo, you’re wrong. Here in Durango women wear what they want, and if there is a ‘Durangoan Look,’ what it says is: ‘This is me’ and I wear what I want. I am not following any rules or dressing or acting to meet anyone’s expectations but my own.’” I looked at her, a very pretty 50-year-old, with her casual, stylish, shoulder-length hair and a soft blue scarf draped around her shoulders. Just a hint of ginger perfume.
She had minced no words; she’d been stern with me. “She might be right,” I thought to myself. “So what if I wore my trademark polyester navy blue suit? It looks good on me.”
Heading out, I kept mulling it over. Of course, there are norms of behavior and beliefs in Durango, just as elsewhere, and most of us choose to conform to some extent. But to what extent? If you grow up on Flatt and Scruggs, can’t you also don your best cowgirl or cowboy vest and go hear a Shostakovich symphony? And what if your high school takes on Broadway’s “Hadestown” instead of “Oklahoma,” can’t you be mesmerized by the way the tragedy evolves?
Later, at a nearby shopping center, a tableau formed in front of me: I watched a young man and woman enter, holding hands, sit at a nearby small table and put their heads together, whispering. He stood up to leave, then leaned over and she looked up at him. They kissed. The kiss ended and slowly, with a backward look and smile, he walked away.
Now comes the “low-key epiphany.” Here was a young couple going along together with their everyday life, just like the rest of us. But the defining factor was this: They both dressed Goth, top to toe. Black hair and eyeliner, black boots. Black everything. Black lipstick. Black clothes. Distinctly counterculture. Definitely rejecting conformity. Absolutely and totally espousing individualism. Out-and-out Goth. But they showed me that you can self-identify as Goth and at the same time be deeply romantic. (That quick “I’ll see you later, sweetheart” kiss, one Goth to another, was real. And beautiful.)
So go ahead. Be the successful corporate executive and be unafraid to take a moment to act the comic. Be the alienated-looking teenager who is actually anything but alienated. Be the semipro athlete who sings cantatas. Whatever! Be yourself. You’ll flourish here.
Jo Gibson is a former English department adjunct faculty member at Cleveland State University and a freelance writer with the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
