I sometimes have flashes, Missoula-filled memories. That dot on a map, place, time shaped who I have become, who I am still becoming.
A lot of firsts, seconds, thirds.
Gnome stealing, McDonald’s chicken nugget hockey, acoustic guitars strumming Metallica, Incubus, Pink Floyd, midnight walks down 5th and Arthur, top roman and cans of green beans hidden under my bed, late to every lecture, nag champa, Geo Tracker drives on winding mountain roads.
Choices I made fueled by desperation, near starvation, being naive and eighteen. I was lost in the wide world, scrambling for any small pinch to grip. But then I never felt so free, pretend hippie, soaking up inspiration and sunshine on the banks of the Clark Fork.
I still have the thought-scribble notebook I carried everywhere, one of those objects I keep close to help me remember.