I grew up moving. My parents were both in the Army, so I got used to uprooting (or being uprooted) every couple years. In many ways, my upcoming move to Olympia is just one more in a string of moves. In one important way, however, it is unique: this move, hopefully, will be permanent.

In October, my boyfriend, Ryan, bought a house and land with a couple of his best friends. (Their names, for the purposes of this blog, are Em and Dee. They have a little girl, whom I will call Mini, who turned one year old this summer.) The land is six and a half acres in Olympia, Washington, a mere twenty minute bike ride from downtown. It is mostly flat and open, with a forested ravine on one side, a few established fruit trees, and a couple redwoods. The house is over one hundred years old and will need a lot of work, but it's full of character and will ultimately be Em and Dee's. Ryan and I plan to build our own place in another corner of the property.

Em, Dee, Mini, Ryan, and I are starting an intentional community. We are putting down roots in a serious way.

To put it briefly, I am moving out there to be the change I want to see in the world. (Thanks, Gandhi.) The change that I want to see involves connectedness, both to people and the natural environment. The change that I want to see involves relationships and trust. The change that I want to see involves roots, seasons, and growth. The change that I want to see involves, well, staying in one place for a long time.

I have wanted these things before. I've lived in an intentional community before. I've tried putting down roots before. Will this time work out any better? All I can do is plan as well as I can, cross my fingers, take a deep breath, and jump.

Am I nervous? Yes, absolutely. Am I excited? Yes, absolutely.

There are things that I'll miss here: my parents, my job, my coworkers, my students, my fitness classes, my favorite restaurants, etc. I'll miss the things I can't bring with me, the things that won't fit in my car or in the few boxes I plan to mail out. I'll miss the tree outside my bedroom window and the familiar plants in the understory layer of mid-Atlantic forests.

I've been saying my farewells to these things. I've announced my departure at work and have made good progress on the "Things Ms. Joanna Does" document to inform my replacement. I've gone on solitary hikes in the Shenandoahs to squeeze out my last few drops of Virginia wilderness. I've had many long hugs with my mother and father. I've sold or donated a remarkable portion of my possessions.

I'm ready to go.

December 20th will be my last day of work. A couple days later, with many goodbye hugs and the thud of a car door, Ryan and I will be on our way. We will begin a journey that will take us on adventures I can only imagine: from one coast to another, one life to another, one step at a time.