The lost years became the found years, lessons presented in my youth are understood (but still questioned) as the years have evaporated.

This is my log, my spot, my beach, my Sleeping Lady, my milky sky with the sun that won’t set. It’s just at the end of the runway for the Anchorage airport and a place that knows my secrets.

I’d sit here for hours, alone on my chunk of driftwood, watching couples wander up the rocky shore looking for privacy to celebrate their “love”. I’d listen to the planes and imagine the fascinating people coming to our town from exotic places and day dream that one day I’d leave there. I fantasized that maybe one day I’d return, if only to find an emotionally lost teenager on my corroded wood sharing my decade old thoughts. My shadow, gazing out at the edges and waiting for someone to swoop in and rescue her from herself.

I spent a few minutes here during my last night, the minutes ripped by hissing as they grazed the water. It was just long enough to revel in my escape, to ponder my new world without mountains or ocean air in the place where I was reinvented. To think about the heart that hurt then and the heart that hurts still, the challenges associated with things that can never be conquered. To savor the smile emanating from my core and delight in the evolution of self, the long road behind and the longer one ahead.

I’ve made it this far.