M I S S O U L A

I love Missoula. There is no other way to put it. I LOVE this town. Traveling across the country, visiting small towns and big cities in all fifty states, I have had ample opportunity to seek out or stumble across a myriad of locations to love. I have spent time in great vacation destinations, and in hell holes to which I hope never to return. And I have found a few places where I could see myself settling down, in a vague sort of way. But none like Missoula, Montana. I could be happy here. Missoula. 

Its hard to explain what draws one to a place. There are so many variables. Is it the people who live there? The economy and job opportunities? The wide selection of coffee shops and bars, restaurants and shops? Is it the social world there, or the way the place looks aesthetically? What makes someone say "Hmm I think I could stay here"? For me, its a combination of all of the above. 

Missoula reaches out and grabs you. Or at least it grabs me. There is this feeling, quite hard to describe, that occurs when I am driving or flying toward Missoula. As the car cruises around the curves, or the plane banks down between the clouds, I always strain for that first glimpse of the city emerging between the mountains. There is this almost tangible, electric feeling of welcome. Perhaps it is all in my mind, but I swear the snow glistens hello and everyone on the streets from bums to business people smile in greeting. The potholes seem playful. The river reals you in. Bars beckon. The overly organic hippies seem kind of sweet instead of annoying. The mountains are a constant friendly, if mysterious presence who are seasonally changing from one dramatic look to another. 

I am used to being the outsider, the person who "isn't from around here", and even perhaps encourage that persona, but in Missoula...I long to be a local. Even now, I take pride every time I connect another street or intersection and learn my way around more completely. I feel irate when I learn a favorite restaurant has closed, and jubilant at the discovery of a new little shop. I have imagined myself working -even asked about jobs- at least four places in the last two days. I found myself pocketing a flyer for a yoga class that will happen next week, when I am already gone.

Oh I dream of being a Missoulian. To be one of those people who effortlessly bikes to work, through snow or warm breezes. I want to have endless Saturdays to laze by the river. I want that mountain suntan in the summer, and to be one of those people who simply shakes my head when it's minus degrees for weeks and still snowing. I want to have that accepting, non-judgmental air about me. To find outlets for an enormous flow of creativity. I want to look out my own window and see the mountains, or the river, or the friendly storefronts and maple lined streets. I feel at ease here. Almost at home. Oh yes, I love Missoula.