My one year.

I love hiking. I went by myself yesterday and did Lower Palisades, it was delightful.

The appeal of hiking for me is that no matter how many times you have done a particular hike, it always seems like a new one, and at the same time, one you've done a million times. I love that a hike always seem longer, and shorter than when you've done it before. I love that when you're walking, you forget that you are, and suddenly you are somewhere else, overlooking a beautiful panorama, or a trail sneaking through a thick patch of willows. And you try to retrace the steps that got you there in your mind, but you've already forgotten them.

There are bad parts of hiking, too. The sweat on your back where your pack rides. The chafing between your legs by the end. The sunburn on your nose the next day that makes you regret not bringing sunscreen. And by the end of the hike, tiny rocks press through the soles of your shoes and feel like glass shards threatening to pop your blisters. And even when you walk on smooth ground, the bones in your feet feel like rusty cables rubbing against each other.

It always seems that you can't take another step. Then when you get to the end you think, "I could have done another mile."

Yesterday, when I was hiking, there was a lot of time for thinking and retrospect-ing. And I thought a lot about the last year.

It's been a year since I met Nathan; a year since my life changed forever. It's been unbelievable. I wish I wouldn't have been afraid to keep a journal about what it felt like to hold a boy's hand for the first time. How giddy and undeserving I felt. How nauseous thoughts of leading the Church made me feel. Yet how liberated I became. And how hesitant I was, at times, to embrace that liberation.

And later, how painful it was to come out to my parents. How painful it is, still, to know that they're disappointed. How wonderful all of you were on the day I came out to the world.

How there have been 365 days in the last year that I woke up without a conflicted cloud over my thoughts.

So now I'm writing down how it feels. So I won't forget any more. How it feels to know that despite what anyone says, it is my life, and I'm the chief navigator.

God (if he's out there) made me just the way I am. And he made me capable of making decisions about whether or not he exists. I am capable of finding a spiritual path that makes sense and feels right for me.

I thought (before all of this happened) that it would all feel like a massive self-betrayal. That I would lose my moral compass and I would drift slowly into sadness. But it's been just the opposite. I've felt curious about the world, about issues that matter in the world, about being kind to those around me. I've felt compelled to be honest, even when it's hard (still working on this one). Most of all, I am steady and I am happy.

And though I've already forgotten a lot of the steps that have gotten me to where I am, the view from here is pretty damn good.