A Year Later

A year later, and I still feel like we’re on a whirlwind yet temporary adventure–that in days or weeks we’ll be back to our tiny home in the city center of a major east coast city, cooking in my kitchen and taking long walks at night to combat the oppressive summer heat. But that tiny house belongs to someone else now, and we are thousands of miles away forging a new path of western living.

A year later, after saying bye, house, walking through the alleyway and through its ancient gate and locking it for one final time, and I am just starting to recognize the enormity of uprooting oneself. I remember sitting at a coffee shop and my dear friend describing what we were doing as taking a long while to set the table perfectly and then flipping the whole thing over. It is absolutely like that. A couple months later, on the first night in our new home, I found myself visualizing that I was in my old bed in our now-old house while laying in a foreign one.

Despite this particularly low point, we humans are surprisingly adaptable beings if we allow ourselves to be. A year later, and I miss that house we made our first home. Images of our old life do still pull at my heartstrings a bit. I think that’s normal, whatever that means. But even still, this is becoming home. I no longer have to punch in every address on the GPS. We have our favorite farms and breakfast spots and hiking trails and beaches and vistas close to home and farther away. More than that, we’ve been welcomed by new friends determined to include us in the very things that make this place home for them. I see familiar faces here and there.

We’ve fallen hard for the free spirit that permeates the entirety of the Northwest. It’s wild and beautiful. It’s untamed. I am humbled by what I see and feel on a daily basis, from the sun rising over the range to the east to the bald eagle scooping up a fish for its supper.

You know, I think we’ll stay awhile.

 

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