WESTWARD HO!!!

Today, I received a fortune cookie from a colleague in honor of Chinese New Year. My fortune read, "Travelling to the West will bring you great rewards." This got me thinking about my long held affinity for the West. When I was nine years old, my father moved us to Texas to be near my Grandmother, who lived in San Antonio. Upon crossing the Arkansas/Texas state line, the old man promptly stopped the car, exited it, fell to his knees and kissed the ground. I, on the other hand, was devastated. I was born and raised in Chicago, as were most of my cousins, with whom I had a very close bond, and I wanted nothing to do with Texas! In any event, San Antonio became my new "Home Sweet Home".
Interstate 10 runs right through the middle of San Antonio, and all through the overly vast state of Texas. Being the curiously inclined investigative Capricorn I am, I wanted to know where this massive highway led, and as we eventually bought a home right off the 10, on the outskirts of San Antonio, it became my lot to learn all about it.
I suppose I could have chosen to begin with 10's origins from the East, but I found myself far more intrigued with the wonderful possibilities it's destination would surely offer. Hence, I began my own personal geography lesson.
The first thing I learned was that I-10 West ended in California, and what blonde teenage girl hasn't dreamed of going to California at least once in her life? It was my understanding that remaining on this highway of dreams would eventually lead me right to the Pacific Ocean. I began to devour books about the West, the Pacific, California. In my mind, I can still see the picturesque sunsets, awash in purple and pink, subsequently drowning in the azure waters of the open sea. Visions of seashells and rich, foamy waves danced in my head, and the moon never beamed without bringing me dreams of my beautiful California. (*thank you, Mr. Poe). I  made up my mind right then and there that my journey would begin right outside of my front door, and would not end until I reached my true destination.
I was forced to traverse I-10 on a daily basis on my way to school, the cruel joke being that the bus always turned off the interstate on to some dusty old Texas road, and carried me to a little shit-hole country school. I prayed every day that that bus would just stay on 10 and take me to the West, instead. It was torture, but it reinforced my goal with the greatest of vigor.
One day, in 1990, my best girlfriend and I decided that the time had come. She was from Montana and had only lived in San Antonio a short time, which, evidently was enough for her, so we packed up my daughter, her cat, Gizmo, my dog, Nikki, several bottles of Smirnoff, a carton of Marlboros and hit the road in my '77 Sedan de Ville.
We headed west on I-10 and didn't stop until we got to California, where Ingrid and I promptly got out of the car at a gas station in San Diego, and, yes, kissed the blessed ground!
When travelling on 10, there comes a fork in the road. A literal one, however, metaphorical, as well. Stay on 10 and go to Los Angeles, or take the 15 South and go to San Diego, which is just as fine a choice, because the 15 leads to 8 West, which literally will lead you directly to the Pacific, so off of the 8 is where we made our home, in a little beach town called, quite appropriately, "Ocean Beach".
We were happy there. We would go to Tijuana for lunch and take Nikki to Dog Beach and spend days on end watching the sun set into the ocean with my daughter, Jeanine. We shopped for our fruits and vegetables at the Farmer's Market on Newport every Wednesday and drank heavily at all the little bars along Garnet in Pacific Beach. It truly was heaven on earth. The one caveat to my glorious reality was my still being tethered to my boyfriend, back home in San Antonio. He was a fascinating man. A bookie, born on Halloween, so, number one, he could afford to fly me to see him every two weeks, and number two, the magnetic pull he had on me forced me to make the 1200 mile trek, each way, twice a month. He was a hard man to pull away from, and eventually, he drew me right back in. That's a Scorpio, for ya...they never let anything go. I was torn between the two, however, as Ingrid is one, as well, but, the boyfriend, of course won out, and also like a Scorpio, Ingrid never forgave me for leaving.
I did not drive east on 10. This is something I would consider sacrilegious, if I where, in fact, religious. I flew. Leaving Lindbergh Field has you heading west for a few miles, over the pacific, to gain the necessary momentum to fly over the mountains of Clairemont. I do believe I cried the whole way back to Texas. San Antonio...I-10...east.
Upon returning to San Antonio, I looked for a job in the one place in town I found bearable, the Riverwalk. I had a friend from college who was the food and beverage director at the Holiday Inn, so I applied in the human resources department as a formality. One of the questions on the application asked, "If you were to relocate, where would like to go?" First choice...Las Vegas. Second choice...San Diego. Third choice...LA. My first day on the job, I was grabbing my sweater from the chef's office, and this really cute, tall drink of water is sitting at the desk, feet propped up and says to me, "Vegas, huh?" "Yeah", I responded. "I was there last year and I fell in love with the place, besides, hotels are my game, so what better place, right?" "That's exactly what I was thinking..." Famous last words!
A little over a year later, I married said drink of water and within two months of that, we were on 10 West, heading to Vegas.
I lived in Las Vegas with my little family for almost twenty years. The entire time I lived there, however, the wild, wild west was, apparently, not west enough for me, as I spent every weekend I could in San Diego. Ocean Beach was our second home.
After my daughter got married, I felt like I could go out and explore more of what the celestial West had to offer, and having never been to the Pacific Northwest, I decided to move to Portland, Oregon.
This is one of those life changing decisions one makes in which you feel as if every road you have been on has led you directly to this place.
It is spiritual and mystical. The evergreens rise into a profusion of intergalactic stars that I have never before seen so clearly. This Thanksgiving, which is my all time favorite holiday, found me lost in the artistry of fallen leaves, the plethora of color amongst the partially barren trees was utterly astounding. In all my life I have never experienced, through site, a more pulchritudinous November. This is the place to witness fall in the West. The summer was simply warm. Never too humid, never too hot. The rain, when it did fall, did so in a circadian rhythm, reminiscent of an old Willie Guthrie song.
I have found myself here. There have been many circumstances in my life that have led me from my path. There have been plenty of times that I have been lost. Heading west has always brought me back to the place where I belong.
A word that comes through in all of my communications quite often is "Destiny". The definition of destiny is the predetermined, usually inevitable or resistible, course of events, or fate. It's origins, however are shared with the word "Destination", derived from the French word, "Destiner". I find this absolutely fascinating. "Destination" is defined as a place a person travels to or is sent. They're basically both the end result of a journey. The magic is in the predetermination, or fate associated with said journey. I am fascinated by this because many times over the past year, people have asked me, "Why Oregon?" My answer is somewhat hard to characterize...especially to those less mystically inclined. "Well, I was sitting on my bed one day, in Vegas, and it suddenly occurred to me that I can live anywhere I want..." This, however, only explains why I left Vegas, not why I came to Oregon. The fact is, I WAS drawn to this place, inexorably, inexplicably. The moment I stepped onto the bus to come here, I only knew I needed to, not why I needed to.
So, as I tape my little paper fortune to the fancy notepad I carry in my purse, right underneath the sticky-note on which the probable cause of my "destiny" wrote my name, I reconcile all the rewards I have ever garnered from travelling West. There have been many. Moving my daughter to Vegas 22 years ago brought to fruition her destiny, gifting me a wonderful son-in-law, and three awesome grandchildren, one of whom is the absolute and outright love of my life. Moving back to San Diego after my separation from my aforementioned spouse, I was given the very best and most cherished months of my life. Unable to manage my misery in Vegas, I loaded up my car and my beloved Elvis, my familiar, or to those less mystically inclined, the love of my life in dog terms, and spent those months, his last, on the beach, watching him swim in the San Diego River, swim against the waves in a valiant effort to retrieve hundreds of tennis balls, chase seagulls in the sand, and be the Labrador he was born to be. Living in Las Vegas also brought into my life one of the dearest friends and confidants I have ever known. He lives in LA. Another Western reward. My old best gal-pal lives there, too, and because she is a Scorpio, just like my other friend, Adrian, she is still a friend of mine. As I said, they never let go of anything. Here in Oregon, I have reaped the greatest rewards. I found myself here. I have found it intrinsically easy to embrace my faith, my magic, and my calling in this life, here. It is here, in Western Oregon that my journey finds me standing still for a moment, so that I can be the person I was born to be, for the people in my life, that I love and who deserve no less. 
Travelling West has always brought me the greatest rewards, and now it is time to repay the favor...

-DeAnna Lynn Arzola