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Outside of a small community college in the high desert of Central Oregon, I stood on the stoop with my Associate's degree in hand. There was no gown, I didn't walk. I knew that standing here with a completed degree in hand at 18 was an accomplishment, but I didn't feel strongly about it. Mostly I was just relieved. A strong sense of freedom overwhelmed me, now I could finally just go. With a uhaul behind my old Chevy Trailblazer, I set out for Maine. It took 6 days and we traversed 13 states. I saw the bison of Yellowstone, clanked a quarter in a fortune teller machine in Sturgis, and followed signs for "Wall Drug" all the way to Sioux Falls. I slept in a Wisconsin road stop and walked through downtown Chicago during a light rain. Indiana was endless. Upstate New York had rest stops with more stores than the shopping malls I had known growing up in Alaska. All the way to Maine, my dog and I drove on. When I arrived in Bangor, it was a tired and wild excitement. My travel didn't stop, though. I traveled all over New England working for Lifetouch and the Red Cross. I was delayed in Presque Isle because of a herd of chickens crossing the road. I drove to Canada for lunch, and saw puffins in Bar Harbor. I took the train down to Boston and saw Post Malone at the gardens, spending two days wandering the Boston town. I drove the Betty and Barney Hill road in New Hampshire looking for Ufos, and enjoyed Ben and Jerry's in lovely Vermont. I burned through this region like a wildfire, consuming and internalizing the lovelyness and adventure of everything there was to see. In 8 months, I saw everything to see in Northern New England. I wrote my book about my Maine adventure, told through a fictional love story. Now I've set my eyes south again, and as soon as the snow melts I'll be bound for Utah. First down all the way to Greensboro, NC, and then across the way to Salt Lake City. I want to travel, see it all and tell everyone about the mysteries abroad. I have so many stories to tell, given a chance.