A good friend is in town, just for 24 hours, to interview for a post-doc or internship or something very important at the big research and teaching hospital in town. She's finishing up her PhD in psychology. She works hard. She also has interviews in New Haven and Palo Alto. Prestigious interviews. Obviously.

I spent many teenage afternoons lounging on my twin bed, listening to Tori Amos, and imagining my someday successful life. Editor-in-Chief of Ms. Magazine. Or Bust. Or Bitch. I would do something important, fast-paced, metropolitan.

I lived in Brooklyn for exactly six weeks after college. I ventured into Manhattan twice, and I cried both times. The cement parks and rats in the subway broke my heart. I wonder what my life would be like if I stayed in New York. I wonder what my career would be like if I stayed in New York.

I walk faster than most people in Portland. I keep to a schedule. But the trees here are lush and inhabit every alley, nook, and median strip. I am putting down roots here. I have a house, a job with enviable benefits, a compost bin, and a sewing machine. I aspire to make my own stock.

Maybe success is a fully-stocked pantry.