When I’m on the Oregon Coast, I feel like I belong there.
I love the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean. I love the beautiful rock formations, the stunning cliffs, and the cold wind. I love the wildness of the beaches, so untamed compared to the tidy and overcrowded stretches of hot sand in Southern California.
I love the lighthouses. I’ve visited all eight on the Oregon coast, and several in Washington as far north as Puget Sound. I own a collection of lighthouse figurines made by a regional artist—one for every beacon I’ve visited.
I love the coast and I got to spend the last four days there. Now that I’m home, I miss it but I realize that I don’t belong there.
I belong here, in Eugene, with the fans running throughout our apartment to keep cool as the temperature climbs closer to 90°. I belong here at my laptop typing these words. I belong here, with the laundry laid out on the bed waiting to be put away.
Why? Not because of Eugene, with all it’s quirky charms, or because of the heat that I’d rather do without, or because of laptop that I barely opened in the last week, or the laundry that I’ll put away eventually.
I belong here because Julia and Anna are here. We were together on the coast and now we’re together at home.
And wherever they are, that’s where I belong.