...while that sounds like the title of some kind of inspirational post, it's actually not. It's the description for my last move. A couple of years back, I moved from Virginia to Washington. And like most people, found there's a big difference in visiting with your parent and living with them; I grabbed the first house I could find.
Beautiful place, lovely neighborhood, twenty miles from the Cascade foothills. I have this thing about trees. Living in a Virginian suburb for such a long time, trees were a rarity. Small trees, sure. Big trees? Not so much. There's a lot of development, and tiny little houses squished up to sprawling big houses. Lots of graffiti and places you know you shouldn't go to at night.
The day I woke up in my last place and discovered every fence in my neighborhood tagged was the day I knew I needed to move. I'd been thinking about it for awhile; every time I couldn't get out of my circle during the winter because the city only owned one snowplow. But graffiti? Nah.
I'd been driving through this one place, way up against the mountains, for years.