We're in this together.

Awhile back a friend of mine (who does not live here) asked me "who will you miss the most when you leave Seattle?"

With only a little contemplation, the narcissist that I am answered, "me."

Sure, I will miss the girl that lives for early morning lake swims, and the tall Starbucks drip with room that inevitably follows. I will miss the peruser of pumpkin patches, you know her, the one with her face turned up to the rain and the perpetual bad hair day. The one who loves to ride up Juanita Hill, and go barrelling recklessly down it. The one who knows the cemeteries and gardens, the secretest beaches and clearest mountain views. The one who knows the radio stations, past and present. The drinking fountains that work all year round on the bike and running routes. The one whose best weeks start with an 11th century tradition sung loud and lovely.

There's no doubt I will miss the Seattle person that I am. But over the last month I've come to realize it isn't me that I can't leave behind, it's all of you. So guess what? I'm bringing you with me.

Thank you for filling my kitchen with your noise and your love.

For snowshoes and conversation. A papier mache mermaid. A hand written note. A magical storybook given and received. A massage. Sad eyes that said I am picturing my world without you in it every day, and I don't like it. A hat you knitted yourself. Space Needle shaped pasta. A rainbow of spectacularly glamorous nailpolish bottles, one from each, and the poetically perfect final blue. For sharing a shamelessly enormous bacon cheeseburger. For a workout of my choice: 4 x 100 for time sandwiched between stroke sets. For Seattle Starbucks mugs. For the time you didn't have to give, but you gave it anyway. A candle. A beer at the local. A heart shape that will hold four distant souls together. For calling. For holding my hand. Loaning me your step ladder. A lunch break spent watching the meerkats at the zoo. For Little House on the Prairie. And a reminiscent relishing of a Peet's vanilla latte together. For staying late and doing the dishes. For telling me about the thing you remember me saying or doing that you think might have changed you. For coming to my last speech.

For crying, and for not crying.

And for being in my heart and making me what I am, wherever I go. Whether you like it or not, you're moving to North Dakota, too.