Great Divide makes an alright stout if you don’t mind a bit more hops and little less malty. I’ve been drinking the 3 they had on tap in their taproom, the classic Yeti, Oak-Aged Yeti, and Espresso Oak-Aged Yeti (all of them at 9.5%ABV). Being an imperial stout, I liked the original version the best. The oak aging gives it a punch that I think could use about an extra year settling in a bottle to get more complexity in the taste and a smoother feel. Maybe that’ll be my next experiment. With drinking the Yeti, memories of my own Yeti put a bitter sweet smile on my face.
In our human existence, I feel we all have our moments of being alone. That’s normal from what I understand. You’re in the middle of the woods or on top of a mountain, by yourself, and you are definitely alone.
The alone feeling I’m about to expound on is different. It’s not an awareness that you are the only human being within a certain amount of distance. It reaches deep into the soul. It hits when you’re being hugged by your best friend for a photo. Or when you’re at a party where everyone knows you and is having a good time. Or when you’re riding your bicycle home and you see through a window a dance lesson. For some strange reason, you know there is no one that thinks or feels like you do. Friends and family might have similar or the same views but for some reason you know it’s not the same. They just don’t get it even though they get it. It’s a really weird feeling. If you’ve felt it, you know what I’m talking about. You are the only one on this planet, just like a Yeti. The only one of your kind. That feeling of alone feels like a machete sticking through you. It totally sucks.
When I met the male version of me, the other Yeti, it floored me. It was like someone did the Vulcan mind meld to us. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he had blonde, curly hair, blue eyes, and 6’5″ of fantastic. I’m such a sucker for blue eyes. We would talk for hours about the things that moved us. Anatomy, music, travel, the universe in macro and mini, ridiculous stories from our lives, the pain of being divorced…we shared everything. We would just gaze at each other and understand. We understood each other in a way that I have never experienced since. That’s okay. I’m finally okay with that.
He was the one who asked me, “If you knew you had only 10 years to live, what would you do?” He’s the reason you get to read this blog and why I’ll keep writing.
The last time I saw him, I knew it was the last time. As I walked into the airport, through the sliding doors, I looked behind me. He was sitting in the car watching me walk in and that’s when it hit me.
I will never see him again.
I wanted to cry, but all I could do was stand there and look back. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to get back in the car and go with him where ever he went. I wanted to kiss his beautiful face and tell him I would never leave him, that I would always be his. I have never had a feeling so strong of leaving everything behind just to follow him. My rational mind went out the window. All I wanted was him. I could figure everything else out so long as he was with me. He was my Yeti. How could I leave him?
But I did. I put on my big girl panties, fought back all the tears, waved, smiled and turned away. Of course I wept all the way through the terminal and security, but I walked away. I had to because a plane was leaving and I had a job to get back to. Responsibilities, friends, parties, and the everyday hum drum was waiting for me back in Denver.
He was gone. The snow storm of everyday life blew in and my Yeti disappeared in the whiteout.
I never have that soul feeling of being so-utterly-alone-in-this-world anymore because of him. He has changed me forever. I know he’s out there. The male version of me is out there somewhere doing his thing. I am so incredibly lucky to have known him because I could be the last person on this planet and I wouldn’t be alone. All because I knew him. For one amazing moment, my Yeti loved me and I loved him back.
This one is for you…