When I was younger I used to think I was meant for the east coast, or Europe. Obviously somewhere much more interesting than the place I was from. I imagined that when I got older I’d pack up my stuff and move to one of those places. Then everything would feel right.
I’m now a pseudo grown up who has been blessed enough to live in a lot of the places I always dreamed of when I was young. I love traveling and always will, but on a recent road trip to southwestern Wyoming I realized something about my heart; and that something was that I love the American West. As my little sedan led me through mountain passes and finally rode over the peak of a mountain to reveal a valley and a hill littered with windmills on the other side my chest tightened and I realized that the scene resonated within my soul. There’s something about the large mountains and dry air that stirs my heart in a way that even the English countryside can’t do. While I often find places that overcome me with beauty and history around the world, it’s my own backyard that makes me feel at home.