I define myself by place.
Where I was born and grew up.
The mobile home my husband and I bought and redecorated when we got married.
Our trip to England, wind stinging my face, standing on an outlook and feeling a joy akin to pain.
Those achingly short months in Germany.
The strange interlude of nine months beside a train track in Connecticut.
Our first real house, the creaking 100 year old cottage with the wide sloping front porch.
The selling of our house and one more move, this time to a Seattle: terrifying and exhilarating and wholly unknown; like the early pioneers who left everything behind to go West.
And most importantly, the place I'm going. The longing that nothing on this earth quite satisfies. The sense of belonging somewhere else, of feeling out of place no matter where I go. The beautiful knowledge that a Home awaits me on the other side.