When I get in my car and I turn it East (towards education, towards the buzz of neon lights, towards intellect and opportunity, towards Towson), I get the sense that part of me stays behind. I believe, fully, that parts of our soul belong to certain places, and the further I travel East, the more I feel my soul drain from my body to remain with the Mountains of my home, these Mountains of my heart.

At first my leaving is full glory, full speed ahead. The promise of the unknown being so close that I can reach out and grasp it. But like the fog that rolls through these valleys on a cool morning, I am shrouded by the Mountains, embedded in them and protected by them. The emergence is a slow process, as you feel yourself adjust to a gentle roll rather than a constant battle of climb and descent. But it is within this battle between depth and clarity that I can sense that my essence, my breath, my security is slowly being left, like a trail that the Mountains know that I will return to follow, picking up the pieces, and restoring them to their rightful places.

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