Time is going by too quickly. Even the bus rides seem to pass by without notice. Yesterday, we left Washington state in the early morning. Thirteen hours later, we were stopped for the night in California. And in between I may have fallen a little bit in love.
Oregon isn't a state I've ever really considered. It is rarely mentioned in the news, and people don't tend to flock there as they do New York, Las Vegas, or Florida. But my next vacation? Definitely Oregon. I wish we could have actually spent some time there. What I saw through the bus windows fascinated me. Mountains. Rock walls. And trees. So many trees. Everything that I love about nature; It's what I miss most about Poland, running around the woods with my cousins, and what I miss most about my yearly white water rafting trips with my best friends down in Tennessee. Fresh air. The sounds of running water. Not being trapped in by blocks of buildings and the constant rumble of traffic.
But my mind always goes back to the city. I cannot fathom living somewhere that does not have the open-24-hours, never-ceasing energy that fills every street corner of New York. I don't know how I'm supposed to be able to fulfill my need for career and my love of the open-aired freedom that makes me happiest. Should I be shifting my focus on more regional work? Or do I keep pushing forward towards where I know I am destined to be - the Great White Way.
California has yet to make much of an impact on me. As we head south, I see miles upon miles of dead farmland, dustbowl signs, and lots of yellowed hills and valleys - La Mancha in the real; great, wide plains that just don't speak to me like the mountains do.
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