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Profile of a East Coast Identity-Complex

The world sees you the way it wants to.  Traveling to different worlds in a short period of time in my young life has given me many perspectives of myself.  I see "me" through a myriad of lenses, realizing the trick to true perception is figuring out which light puts me in the best color.

Life so far has ended up giving me a motley collection of identity complexes.  I grew up in New Hampshire, and I was the really tall fish in a pond of other fish that didn't travel and didn't care about anything outside of the pond.  I didn't fit in.  I moved to Washington DC for undergraduate, and I was transformed into a really tall noob with a backwoods accent and a not-as-charming as you'd think naïveté.  Fast forward 4 years and I' back home in rural bumblefuck New Hampshire.  I am now an elitist, raw-fish eating yuppie wonk who can't seem to understand why there isn't a gluten-free aisle in the local Market Basket.  I feel as all three of these perceptions are quite accurate descriptions, although it seems impossible that they can co-exist in the same way the hippie-favored bumper sticker advocates. 

However, there is a next step.  That next step is journeying west across the big river, toward the land that flows with milk and granola, to study sustainable development, live next to an organic farm, and figure out how I'm going to make my own positive impact on the world.  

I've decided to share my adventures, explorations, relationships, culture-shocks, and new challenges (such as black ice, matching flannel with trench coats, and not having to spend $4 on Starbucks ever again).  This whirlwind of change and coming of age is basically begging for hilarious anecdotes to post on the internets.

So, I leave tomorrow.  My 2002 Volvo s40 (aka Chachi II) is packed to bust and my 82 year old German Grandmother (aka Oma) is coming with me.  She lives across the street from us now, and she is my hero.  When she first moved to America she landed in Queens, NY and HATED it.  She went to Vermont, and she felt like she was back in the Fatherland.  She has post-polio syndrome, and she rarely leaves her house on the hill.  I'm proud to start my adventure this way, sharing love, appreciation and excitement with my personal hero.  She is tough as nails and smart to boot, as she always says the travel is the hardest part of the trip.  If she can do it, so can I!

Bon Voyage and Good Night

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