I really have been single-minded in my pursuit of some higher sense of place. I thought I could learn my way to understanding what it means to belong somewhere. And, since I moved to Oregon, I turned my back on that idea. I had to focus on the present and immediate. I was putting out fires, literally and figuratively. It was a short summer and a belly flop of a landing on September 2nd, the day I completed my probation. I felt hollowed out, something the wind could whistle through, something that looked heavier than it felt. I put my faith in believing that everything happens for a reason. Even after my time opened up, I still kept myself closed off from the place that was becoming home. When my crutch finally collapsed I found out I could stand on my own. And I finally looked around and realized I was becoming intimate with a place I told myself I hated. I found myself vulnerable and the thing that stepped forward to offer comfort was a sturdy place. It snuck into my heart with a gentle December, days of clear sky and soft night rains. I never expected you to be the one, Oregon. I didn't think I'd love you and I am the first to admit that this is a clumsy, new love. I only just recently learned what it means to give yourself to another. I don't know how I earned your trust but your patience has earned mine. Maybe we don't find a place. Maybe it finds us.
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