It's been five years since I moved to Maine. FIVE years!
I have now lived here longer than I lived in Washington, DC, longer than I lived in Syracuse, New York, for college and certainly longer than my semester abroad in London and two summer internships in Cape Cod- all places that I have proudly called home over the last dozen+ years.
I came to Maine for a myriad of reasons that seemed to make sense at the time but were anything but looking back. For all that DC had to offer, my intuition pointed me homeward post 9/11. Leaving a city I adore, a respectable journalism job, a faithful wedding clientele and a solid group of friends, I eventually packed my things in 2004 and retreated north believing, down to the tips of my toes, that something better awaited me here.
For just 25 years old I was quite bold, if not brazen, to make such a risky move. But you can't argue with gut instinct, and I was determined to make the most of this leap of faith. So with my sweet Dakota puppy, support of family and hooded sweatshirts (which, yes, I wore most nights my first winter in New England), we hunkered down in a stunning condo on the water overlooking the Portland skyline. We opened ourselves to the better quality of life that I imagined possible here, and we fell in love with the ocean.
I never expected that I'd stay in Maine much past that first year. I imagined my fast DC city lifestyle would lure me back, as it often still tries. But, somehow, Maine's stuck. I bought a house my first spring here and, before long, in between flights to photograph weddings in the nation's capital, successfully transferred my wedding business to New England and found happiness in the one state I never imagined I'd find myself living: Vacationland. Frankly, I don't know that I'll ever be able to leave!
(If you like this lighthouse poster, you must check out artist Alan Claude's Maine vintage lighthouse series on his website here.)