It’s weird for me to think that I will be living in a different state by the end of the month.

Montana has been my home for most of my adult life, and now I’m leaving it. I think deep down, since the moment I drove my Landcruiser across the stateline, I knew I wouldn’t stay forever.

I knew eventually I would go back to California to be closer to my family and closer to my roots. But I fought the urge. Everytime a life changing moment came about, I found a reason to stay up here. I wasn’t ready to leave.

I think there’s something about life in northwestern Montana that becomes almost a fantasy. The mountains, lakes, rivers, wildlife, small population, close-knit communities, cowboys, cattle, rodeos, backcountry adventures and utter vastness of open space leave an imprint on the minds of the people who visit and later come to live in this area. I am sad to say goodbye.

My time in this state has been tumultuous to say the least. Whether it’s been boys, jobs, school, cars or friendships, the last six years have definitely not been boring.

I went from living on a ranch in the Thompson River Valley, playing cowboy, marketing beer and snowboarding almost every weekend to living in Bigfork, exploring every little nook and cranny of wildlife management area, coaching soccer, reporting for a newspaper and becoming a part of The Garden Bar community.

In between was Missoula, where I met many of the Montana friends that I will keep for the rest of my life, where I made a home for myself and where I learned to love Montana even more than I already did.

Missoula, I think, was where I became an adult. I know it sounds strange, but I feel like life comes at you in segments. The segment I spent in Missoula was where I gained confidence in my ability to be me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had confidence in myself, but there were areas where I lacked it — most particularly in my ability to make a decision that seriously affected my future and my ability to commit to something.

I was afraid of making the wrong decision. Before that, I didn’t want one career to carry me through. I didn’t want all my arrows in one quiver, I didn’t want to look at something I couldn’t see right in front of me. And although to a certain degree, I think that’s just a part of who I will always be, I’m not afraid to do it anymore.

I’m committed to being a writer, telling stories, being a journalist of some sort, and my time in the Flathead Valley has cemented that feeling inside of me. Being able to tell the stories of this community has been challenging, interesting and fun. It’s allowed me to put time into something I believe is important and blossom as a writer. For that I am thankful.

I know I am just another in a line of West Shore News employees to leave in the last few years, and I apologize for that. I hope that whoever comes next decides to make it for a while because this is a great area, with a warm, giving and open community and some kick-butt recreational opportunites.

For me it’s just not home, and I think I finally realized that Montana never was home, it was just a fantasy for me. My home is close to my family, close to what I left behind and what I want to get to know again.

My heart will always have a hole in it after I leave Montana, that much I know for sure. And I hope that someday I will be able to make it my home. But now it’s time for the next adventure, which as everyone knows is the future with a huge question mark, a little fear and a lot of excitement — my favorite. That adventure takes me to Santa Maria and a new paper.

Hopefully when I get there, the community treats me as kindly and with as much respect as those that I interacted with in the Flathead.