I forget that I am already the woman I fantasize about being. I already live in Oregon. I already have canned pears and pickled beans on the shelf. I already hike in sturdy little Vasque leather boots and a rust colored down jacket. My hair is already braided. I already eat broccoli and sweet potato. I already practice yoga. I already sculpt with clay. I already dance to Fleetwood Mac's Monday Morning. I already have a quilt on my bed, a dog at my feet, a bicycle at the ready. I am 36. I was raised on Sixteen Candles and Bongo jeans, wave bangs, frosted lipstick, and volleyball. Can I be happy now? Can I be still? The life I want is already here.