It’s one of those gorgeous days out today. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue (deep, not pale) and the sunlight is filtering through the boughs of cedars and maple trees around my house. Birds are in full chorus, and earlier I think I heard a squirrel get its clock cleaned by a raccoon. It’s warm out. The ferns are uncurling and are at their greenest. It’s my favorite time of year, in my favorite place.

It’s moments like these when I wonder why I would ever leave this gorgeous area. I mean, really: I live in an amazing house in a beautiful forest…Why would I ever want to leave?

(Oh, did I forget to mention that Andreas and I will be giving up the house when I leave for NYC? We will. Then I’ll be New York until early August, back long enough to pack my shit and go for a couple hikes, and then it’ll be off to LA, SF, or NYC for work. Dre will stay here to finish his last year of school.)

Then I have to remind myself that I want to do more than sit in a beautiful place. I want to bring inspiration to the masses, and to do that I need to spend some time working (whoring?) my magic in a place where there’s a higher ratio of people to trees than we have here in Olympia, WA. It’s not that I don’t appreciate this place. Every morning I wake up and drink in the forest sounds, every night I enjoy the complete darkness and silence (I’m the girl who had to move out of a loft last year in part because I was convinced that the evil orange streetlights outside my window ate my soul while I was sleeping). I love it here.

But I’ve got the curse of being acutely aware of my purpose, and it’s to publish: bringing the inspired words of geniuses to the appreciative public (how’s that for industry idealism?). I might eventually be able to do that from a place as beautiful and verdant as where I live now, but I’ve got to put in some urban time.

That’s why, in one month, I’ll leave behind my house, my forest, my family, my boyfriend, and my security. It’s all very exciting, but (and?) some days I feel only terror.