I don't even know where to start. So I'll pick something.
How about: I'm in Portland.
The past six weeks have been a blur. There's been a lot of tuning out to the Cosby Show in the late evenings. Lots of talking on the phone with Liz. A lot of packing. A lot of cardboard boxes. A lot of scrapes and cuts and bruises. A few too many bittersweet goodbyes, but also a couple of triumphant ones. And oh, a shit ton of driving. There was New Mexico, then Colorado. Utah was astounding in all kinds of ways. Idaho was Idaho. Oregon, breathtaking. There've been a lot of random hotel rooms and early morning bagels. Many cups of strong coffee (chai for the mister). Many nights on an air mattress.
The boxes have caught up to us and as of today are now piled around our new apartment – an apartment which, even with no furniture, has already felt more like home in a week than New Mexico ever did. I take this as a good sign.
Santa Fe seems like it was a strange dream in a restless night's sleep. Here, everything makes more sense to me than it has in a long time. Life is always a slow progress, but for me Portland feels like I finally have solid ground beneath my feet. No matter what happens, I'm here.