I’m here in Bend this weekend. Secretly, a little piece of me hoped that I was making it up, that I was imagining this place, this idea, this thing I found a few months ago. It would be easier that way. It is easier for me to imagine failure and talk myself out of what I want instead of going for it. This is true in so many parts of my life.

But, I didn’t make it up.

This is what I want. I am walking around with every step thumping into the ground with purpose, playfulness and desire. I want the trees and the sunshine and the two old men at the coffee shop talking about kayaking down a glacier while on a geology dig. I want the sound of bike cleats at the grocery store. I want  community and love and a dozen breweries in walking distance.

This morning, I found an old blog I wrote at the end of 2012, that I kept private. It was a blog I didn’t want to publish to the public because it felt too true. I worried about being too much, too honest. I forgot about it. In this blog, I can hear my enthusiasm and idealism, my gratitude and uncertainty dripping with each word. Yet, while experience has changed me, ultimately I am exactly the same. My values, and even my hobbies, are unchanged. Bikes and beer and bread and beauty and now, Bend.

I knew it. I’ve always known what I wanted and needed. I just couldn’t admit that.

I’m crying now. Happy tears rolling down my face, evaporating in the sunshine. This has never felt so right.