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Journal

Finding Home

It's 7pm and I'm in the window seat of a small plane, taxiing toward the runway. The sun is falling from the sky, and golden light is spilling onto the wing. The landscape blurs as we pick up speed, and I feel the wheels lift. We're flying. To Atlanta. Then Paris. Then Cairo, Egypt. A new country, a new continent. A new home. Sort of.

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La Push, Washington

I stood on the beach today at sunset. Watching people balance cameras while wearing knit hats and flannel shirts – teetering out onto massive logs, silhouetted together against a crimson sky. I saw the same scene I had seen five years before. The same rock formations in the distance, the same haystacks and mossy green trails.

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