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Wanderlustˈwän-dər-ˌləst / noun
Strong longing for, or impulse, towards wandering'.

I can't ever seem to satiate my need to explore, to roam. I often find myself daydreaming about my next journey, whether it's through the woods down the road or across the continent. I call so many different places home. New Jersey, with its beautiful pine forests and lovely farms. Georgia, where October still feels like summer. London, where you can get perfectly lost for hours, just taking in the city.

These days I call a little apartment at the northern tip of Portland "home". It's small and cozy, and I love being steps away from a tiny neighborhood coffee shop that has the best apricot scones. Portland is a strange and magical city. In summer the skies are a deep, endless blue that seems to resonate with your very soul. The days are hot, bright, and beautiful, and when it's too much to bear the forest and the coast become welcome escapes. In the fall the trees lining the city avenues turn the most brilliant shades of gold and fiery red, and coffee shops become the perfect retreat from the chill, wet afternoons. In the winter Oregon turns grey and solemn, and days are made for contemplative train rides over the steely river. The city comes alive with the promise of cherry blossoms and endlessly green grass each spring, a harbinger to summer.

Faded stamps on my passport:
France   Paris, Nice
Spain   Barcelona
Morocco   Marrakesh
The Netherlands   Amsterdam
Belgium   Brussels and Brugge
Denmark   Copenhagen, Hillerod
Sweden   Malmo
Italy   Milan, Florence, Rome, Naples, Palermo
United Kingdom   Oxford, Cambridge, Stratford-upon-Avon, Brighton, Greenwich, Edinburgh, Scottish Highlands
Canada   Quebec