I must have left a piece of my heart at the Oregon border when I flew over it in April on my way to Los Angeles. I know there is an even larger chunk waiting for me patiently in Washington.
I have a bouquet of joy inside of me right now, having just passed that magical imaginary line, out of California into Oregon. How can the arbitrary be so beautiful? How can an emotion feel so tangible?
I sat under the small sign that denoted one of the most monumental moments of my life, three guys near me blazing the experience away, to inspect my bouquet. There was bright red delight and purply bittersweet, neon yellow excitement and deep blue satisfaction, there was sweet lilac joy and joy and joy and a short, small green stalk — desire for Dash to be there.
I had spent the morning crying and dancing and dancing and crying. I wished for my hiking soul mate to pass through the invisible boundary with me, something I thought we deserved after all we went through together. I wished more for a cure for Lyme, so she can live the vibrant outdoor life she was promised.
And then the anger and sadness and fear would lift, leaving me vibrating with joy and joy and joy. I felt my despair and hatred of the last few bitter weeks evaporate, allowing me to float.