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June 30th 1998 is still the single most defining day of my life. And I was only a measly 7 years old at the time. More defining than the day I graduated college, the day I realized I had fallen in love for the first time, and yes more defining than the day my brother was born, which still haunts me to this day (only kidding…sort of).

That last day of June was the day my parents moved our family to a brand spanking new house on top of a hill with a view that just doesn’t get old even after your bedroom window faces it for most of your life.

At the time I felt like a plant being ripped from familiar ground and plunked into new dirt. And what’s funny now is that I still do feel that way; as if some of my roots are still left behind in New Jersey. But the thing about plants is that they adapt, grow, and even thrive in new environments. Like a small tree that has outgrown its pot. In a new, bigger and more freeing pot the little tree has more room to grow. And if you’ve ever lived in Oregon, you know there is no better place to grow up than here.

But man did it take a long time for those roots to sink in and realize they were here for good.

I’ve always struggled with my identity. Although I have a keen sense of self awareness, I’ve always had this nagging feeling that I needed to find myself…whatever that actually means. But as is the theme of my life, be it lost car keys, a broken heart, or a crazy couple of days, I always find what I’m looking for. And I always make my way back home.