by Jamie Blais

Created on: June 14, 2008

At work watching Andrew Zimmern eat deep-fried bugs from around the world, thinking about my next destination....Oregon.

There's no rhyme or reason for this change of scenery other than my wanderlust has returned, actually it only left for a very short while here in Texas I'm afraid to say. Oregon has always sounded wonderful in terms of scenery and in my Cornwall loving days, sounded like somewhere I might like to visit. Then NYC and London city-living entered my consciousness and I couldn't imagine myself being in the countryside until retirement. Then I turned 30. Never let it be said that age is just a number. Maybe it is before and after 30, but on the cusp of 29 and 30, it hurts. At 30, with a dog and all the respnsibility he entails, suddenly a return to the country seems just what the psychiatrist ordered. But I do want somewhere with a bit of life. Portland, Oregon. A scenic city with an arty flavor. A State University with an interest in Aesthetics. A long-time family friend nearby if the going gets tough. Only 10 hours from Vancouver, Canada,keeping a tenuous link with the Canadian love of my life, even though he lives in London now. 18 hours from San Francisco, the place I had always believed I'd end up in until I found out the prices.

Could it be that I have finally found a place to call home as I begin to stumble into the twilight of life? Who knows, I've never been there, but I feel those familiar stirrings in my stomach, the excitement of a new start, a new me, a new direction. The endless research into museums, housing, jobs. The continuous working out of finances, lying to myself that I can save enough to move before Christmas and live without a job for at least a month of sightseeing. In theory there is no reason why this is not possible, but my life, revolving around books as it does, requires an outlay of approximately $50 a week on coffee whilst sitting in a bookstore, buying the frequently more than occasional on-sale text. This is the life I love. I don't ask for much, but then I have to admit I'm bored, or at least unsatisfied, believing I am missing something somewhere else.

I wish I could understand why I do this. I say I want to find a place to call home. I say I want to find a place to stay for good. And I think I do when I say it. But I get there, I carve out a life for myself, and I finally stop and look around and think, what next? The only time I didn't feel this way was when I was with the anonymous Canadian. So I think that if

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