I’ve found unexpected freedom living in the Pacific Northwest these past 25 years.

I came west in 1997 when I moved to Federal Way, WA, located midway between Tacoma and Seattle, from Syracuse, NY in order to be closer to my sister and her family.

I used to tell my middle school social studies classes that the reasons for migration and immigration are a combination of pushes and pulls. For example, warfare might push people to move away, while the desire for opportunity or to be near family might pull one to risk a new start.

The pull for me to move to the Pacific Northwest was the delightful enticement of watching my niece and nephew grow up, being close enough to be around them for ordinary days as well as holi-days.

The push was feeling trapped. Though I was late to my own, “I’m gay” coming out party, I was savvy enough to know I’d probably lose my job as a public school teacher if I came out. Not coming out wouldn’t have been an option as blending in is not a skill I possess.

In truth, I loved teaching history to twelve and thirteen year olds, but was ready for a change of scenery. By then, I’d taught for seven years, which was the longest I’d done anything other than breathe, and my restless heart couldn’t imagine an additional twenty-three years in the same building before retiring. Eek!

I am the 5th of our family who came west, counting my aunt, uncle and cousin as a single family unit who moved from rural, northwest Iowa to Coeur D’Alene, Idaho and built a new life from the ground up. My mom’s youngest sister followed, landing eventually on Whidbey Island. Then my sister moved to Seattle, the summer after college, followed by my cousin, also to Seattle, from Sioux City, Iowa, and lastly, myself.

I think we were all eager to escape conformity, to create our own lives in the way we saw fit.

The west is chock full of fellow refugees from convention. No one cares where you went to college or if you did. The dress code is casual, but if you want to dress up, that’s fine, too. There’s a high tolerance for being weird. Criticism is frowned upon. Tattoos are common. You can go to a street fair every weekend in the summer. Artists and healers are revered.

Beyond any cultural quirk, it is the spaciousness which has captivated me. The natural beauty is stunning, with so much variety: the coast, mountains, rain forest and high desert are all within a half-day drive.

In many ways, life here imitates the nature which surrounds us. There is space to be yourself. Not only is there space, there is encouragement. Not the, “You do you, boo”, type of encouragement, but one that is deep and rich and thoughtful.

There is space to be wrong. Space to meet God, anew. Space to change your mind, change it back and then to decide to be undecided.

There is space to explore. To map the great outdoors and your inner self.

There is space from judgment, an incalculable gift.

There is space to listen to one’s own heart, which has set me free.