One. Year. Ago.

I’ve been here a year.

Rather mixed feelings about this.

It’s been a very long year that went by oh so quickly.

I both dated the most older and the most younger guys I’ve ever dated.

I fell more in love than I’ve ever fallen in my life.

I think I managed to drink, last summer alone, more than I ever drank in my five years of university. That’s probably note quite true, but it certainly seemed it. There’s a reason Portland is called a drinking village with a fishing problem.

I’ve started going to church again.

I’ve started ever so slowly to pay off my student loans.

I’ve learned how to make fabulous espresso.

I’ve met lots of amazing people and made some pretty good friends.

I still miss Montreal. A lot.

I don’t exactly regret having left. Portland hasn’t been bad to me. It’s not been Montreal, either. But I knew it wouldn’t be.

I think I mentioned in the previous post that someone who hasn’t known me for very long made the observation that it’s pretty clear that this isn’t where I’m meant to be.

I’m not really sure where I’m headed right now, but that’s okay. No jobs yet in Boston but I’m still looking.

I’m simultaneously getting comfortable and anxious here.

Summer in Maine is a good thing. At least, it was last year.

A year later and these lines continue to rattle through my head…

Peut-être qu’il faut s’enfuir loin de son passé.
Toujours partir afin de mieux se retrouver.

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