On May 28, 2017 I set off on a trip that my car has taken many times before and this time my car was staying.

I set off to a place that was all too familiar.
It was a place that I knew like the back of my hand.

To some, this is a place to visit.
To others, it’s a place they call home.
To me, it’s where I belong. To me, it’s my home. A place to call my own.


Oddly enough, for the majority of my life I’ve never felt like I’ve ever belonged with the people or the places that I lived in or visited. Many a times I always had a feeling of temporary hanging over my head when I met people or visited a place.

And the truth is, it’s kind of disconcerting actually. I mean, as people we have this desire to belong and when that feeling of “it’s time to go” settles in, it’s a blow to my ego and self-confidence. 


In the summer of 2009 I made the big move to Portland where I attended college (University of Portland). If I could be honest, I was scared shitless because of the fact that I might not fit in. It was already hard enough growing up in a place with people who I just didn’t meld with, so who was to say that this place would be any better 

I’m so thankful that it wasn’t the case. All the fears I had quickly were demolished as I realized that Portland wasn’t just a place I’d live in for college, but that it was a place I could call home. It was a place I could call my own.


Here I am though, at the age of 26 sitting at home at 3:51AM not being able to sleep. All because it finally hit me, a month later, that I was finally home. The city that stole my heart eight years ago welcomed me back.

Tacoma will always be home as I grew a lot in that season of life. I learned to love myself and I learned my worth and value in this world. But it was a season that came and went. It was time for that next adventure.

The adventure that took me home.