Eve

I am here.

I wrote that in the sand on my first time seeing the ocean. Hunting Island, the Atlantic, 2010. I was 25, at the beginning of my professional life and on the verge of discovering my true self. The journey took me to more mountains than beaches, but it was a series of attempts, of trails discovered and summits peaked.

I couldn't have predicted then what the next five years would hold, that the trail would lead back home. And that back home would be with the man who first truly saw me and accepted me, and that it would mean helping to make my hometown even better, and that it would have me thinking in terms of leadership, community building, and finding a sense of place on the plains.

I am here.

I find myself with the urge to write this now, here, on the walls of my home, on the skin of my stomach, in the dirt of our yard. I am here, a few days from thirty, growing into a new meaning. I am thirteen weeks pregnant, six months from becoming a mother. For the last two years, I have been a bonus mom to four-year-old Jack, a part-time parent trying on the role and testing out that love. But, most days, I'm still just me, that girl longing for a mountain alone or a long drive with my love. Most days, spontaneity is mine, reclusiveness is an option, time is relative.

Phillip is excited for his thirties: a chance to prove himself wrong, he says. I wonder where my twenties went, how I got here so fast, but I welcome the change. A chance to prove myself right, to build on what I've discovered, to dig deeper into the passions. And to grow a human being and to teach him or her what I've learned. To show a little one what love is and what community is and what nature is and how to live a meaningful life--or at least provide the foundation and the support to discover all of that on his or her own.

Yes, I am here.