This is one of the first photos I took in Nome. And it’s so incredible to think about the person who took that photo: looking out over the Bering Sea for the first time and thinking, WHAT am I DOING here?!
I struggled a lot in the beginning, knowing my time here had an expiration date. Do I dive in and immerse myself in this community, or sit back on the sidelines — so no one notices I’m one of those people who comes into Nome and leaves once again?
The thing is, it’s hard to live in Nome without becoming involved. One day, you sign up to lifeguard once a week, and suddenly you’re there 4 days a week and teaching swim lessons. But in a community as welcoming and accepting and forgiving as this one, it’s all you can do to try and give back at least a bit of what is given you.
You sacrifice a lot to be here, to be so distant from your family and everyone and everything you know. But what I’ve found during my time in Alaska is that, even though, at times, it seems to take a lot away, it gives you exactly what you need to move on.
So here I sit on the same porch in this first photo, a porch that now holds so much more than just our drying clothes and a great view of the Bering Sea. And I’m trying to finish this blog without getting too emotional because I promised myself I would only get really sad on three certain days during this time of change. With two of those days left, it gets harder to hide what this place means to me the rest of the time.
So to anyone who has listened to us on the radio. To every person I run into on the street. And to everyone who asks me what’s next and tries to get me to stay. You are the people that make this place a home. You are what makes it so hard to go.
I am a different Caitlin than the girl who hopped off the plane one year ago in a sundress on a 40-degree July day. And for that I am humbled. And I am grateful.
