Has it really been three years already? Couldn't be.

Feels like just yesterday that I rolled into town with a carload of nonsense I couldn't seem to part with, not knowing a soul, flooded with equal doses wanderlust and panic.

But when I recall the me of three years ago - well, then it seems like ages.

See, back in Illinois I had a developed a "routine" problem. I'd grown overly fond of the familiar.

Not much changed about where I ate, where I drank or how my weekends were spent.

I drove out of my way on nearly empty tanks of gas so I could use a familiar gas station (never did run out of gas - lucky me). I was stifled by the thought of walking into a bar or restaurant alone to meet up with a friend. "Meet me outside," I'd insist.

I was particular about making lists too - lists of things I needed to buy, things I needed to do. I was particular about my calendar and being early to appointments (sometimes awkwardly early). I was particular about cleaning my apartment from corner to corner every week.

My adventurous spirit was suffocating and there I was pressing the pillow to its face with all my might.

So how I came up with the idea to pack up my stuff and move, alone, to somewhere generally in the east, I'll never know. New York? Too big. Baltimore? Too criminal. Boston? Too confusing (you've driven around there, you know what I mean).

And then there was Portland, a place in Maine I'd never heard of. A place with it's own chapter in a New England travel guide.

Portland. Sure, why not.

In the beginning I used to revel in the randomness of how I ended up here.

But my story was met with similar ones - people who came here by happenstance. A job transfer, a vacation that turned permanent, a followed boyfriend who soon thereafter became a followed ex-boyfriend. I have one friend that intended on moving to Portsmouth and came to Portland on accident - and stayed.

I suppose that explains some of Portland's unique spirit. It's an off-the-beaten path kind of city - almost a secret. Some of us unwittingly tripped over it (three cheers for being clumsy).

Portland is also a city that can change you (in a good way, not in that what's-happened-to-you-I-don't-even-know-you-anymore kind of way).

For me, that routine thing went straight out the window. I still make lists at work, but that's mostly so I have evidence to show how "busy" I am. (Kidding. Please don't lay me off.)

And the weekly apartment cleanings fell by the wayside (in fact, when I first moved into my current apartment, I didn't have a vacuum. Rather than throw down a whole $40 right away, I decided to see how long I could go without one. FYI, two months is too long).

And the unfamiliar? Let me at it.

Snowboarding? Tried it (stunk at it). Surfing? Tried it (wasn't completely awful). I've learned to knit, cross-country ski and kayak. I've tested mountain biking, salsa dancing and karaoke. I've white water rafted and run two 10Ks (well, 2.5 if we want to get technical) and went to the batting cages for the first time. I bought snowshoes, took an acting class and floated the Saco.

And on my official Maine-iversary last weekend I decided to follow a suggestion from Yamo (who posted a comment on last year's Two Year Maine-iversary blog entry) and test out the champagne of Maine.

You heard me. I had Allen's Coffee Brandy. That's how serious I am about experiencing Maine.

Overall, I'd rank the "Biddeford martini" somewhere between learning to knit and the crushed tailbone pain of learning to snowboard. (If you're offended by the drink's name, take it up with the Portland bartenders. I learned it by watching them, alright? I learned it by watching them.)

So thanks, Maine, for being you. And thanks, Portland, for making it so easy to stay.