Defined by places …

Is it cheesy to crib a post for your own blog from comments that you’ve left on someone else’s?

Fastgrrrl wrote today about having a sense of place, and how places leave their mark on people.

My place … I’m still trying to determine exactly where my place is …

It’s the Tennessee River, drifting along in a fishing boat. It’s Chickamauga Lake, learning how to slalom. It’s the dogwood tree in front of my great-grandmother’s house in Chattanooga.

It’s the treehouse my friends and I built with stolen building materials from the houses in our new development above Lotus Lake in Chanhassen, Minnesota.

It’s the cobbled roads and small little cafes and bars of Belgium, albeit not by bicycle, as I wasn’t a cyclist then.

It’s the North Beach bars and jazz clubs of San Francisco. It’s the streets of San Francisco dodging buses and taxis, and the roads of Marin County where I truly came into my own as a cyclist.

And it’s rapidly becoming the Utah mountains and canyons, where my knees scream on each attempt to climb higher, but my heart soars as I descend, whether with boards strapped to my feet, or astride my trusty steel steed.

I have a long way to go before I am defined by any one particular place, but as long as the journey continues, I will take it all in and make it a part of who I am, and who I want to be.