Goodbye Kansas, Hello Maine.

I have heard many people tell me over the last couple of weeks how difficult it must be, how stressful it must be, and how brave I must be for moving across the country. For one, technically, I didn't move across the country, I was already half way across, residing in Kansas. For another, things are often more easy to do than to think about it. For instance, it's much easier to buy a plane ticket, pack boxes, mail boxes, go to airport, get on plane, get off plane, navigate around an airport, catch next plane and walk off plane into arms of Maine than it is to think about it. In case you were wondering, that's my big secret, for a few days, including the day I did wake up and catch a plane out of Kansas City, I did my best to live in the moment. If you string them together, it creates this story of moments:

Waking up at three thirty in the morning is never the best way to start a day, nor is twisting my ankle while trying to load up the SUV with my luggage in dark a grand way either. However, the drive to the airport, the empty highway, the eerie darkness created an grandeur only a traveler could love. It represented my peaceful transition. I wasn't running away, I was leaving.

It was my grandmother who volunteered to drive me to the airport and she choose to wait with me while they searched my luggage. We commented on how difficult it must be for the security officer to stuff everything back in my lavender suitcase. I, after all, have a reputation of stuffing things in containers finer than any pack rat, and this packaging job was no exception. We made small talk, a few jokes, the content of which I cannot recall. Behind her smile was that of pride, behind mine was that of relief. I felt I was finally, after a long last, getting on with my life.

As I was gracefully lifted off the ground by the aircraft I looked out and could see each individual street lamp, each traffic light, the headlights of each traveling car. I know in time it was a just a few minutes, but that sight, the layers of light, the patchwork of dull colors lasted in my mind for several hours. Through out the day I simply closed my eyes and thought about that moment, followed by the sun rising, the bands of color it created in the atmosphere and recaptured some joy, almost as if I could contain it in a jar.

The landing at Washington Reagan was scary, it seemed at first as if we had landed on water, only to realized it was the furthest runway. My fear left quickly once I realized that from my seat I could see the doom of Congress, the Washington monument, the Jefferson Memorial and the Watergate Hotel as the plane was taxing to it's gate. My lay over was interesting to say the least. It involved two buses. Sadly, due to cloud cover, I could not see the eastern coast as I flew up to Portland. Outside my window was just a sea of white and as the plane descended, I wondered if we were just descending into an abyss. As we lowered beneath the clouds, a cross wind made the plane fished tail the whole way, into the landing. I could tell it was cold rain that was pouring down my window, I could just sense it.

As I walked off the plane and up the ramp there was a sign hanging from the ceiling that read "Welcome Home" with a red lobster off to the side. Since that moment, I have indeed, felt like I was home. It's different somehow, it brings a new kind of peace than my hometown, or my college apartment. It also brings new freedom and opportunity.

Also, as an added bonus, I live less than a hundred yards from this:

Granted, come winter, it won't be as pretty, but for right now, it's quite a sight.