October 26, 2011. That is the day I last wrote a blog. That's not the day when my life changed but it is a day that I can recognize as one of the last ones when I knew who I was and what my purpose was. I'm not generally a quitter. Sure, sometimes I quit on books or I quit on small projects but in life, nope. I try hard at most things, usually right until the end. I won't say that quitting is not a thought that meanders through my being when something gets tough but I have come to learn that when I stick things out I come out having learned a thing or two. But I did quit. I quit a big commitment. I said I would live in Washington, DC and I would do my best. I tried. I also had my very first panic attack, too. It was too much. I couldn't think or breathe. I couldn't cope with the devastation I felt for leaving Mongolia early that March morning. I couldn't cope with no one understanding what Mongolia had meant to me and how it had changed me right down...