For seven years, The City has been my home away from home. I learned how to navigate a car, how to budget, how to make friends, and countless other skills while staying here. I’ve made friends here that I keep in touch with more than anyone I attended high school with, save a few exceptions. I learned how to make it on my own, and I have memories here that I’ll cherish until, inevitably, I’m stricken by one or more various ailments that rob me of my mental acuity.
The City and I, however, have been fooling ourselves for the last year or so. Our relationship has been similar to so many others in life—both parties suddenly feeling more alone, unexpectedly, without knowing exactly what went wrong. To make matters worse, every trip I’ve taken to see my family has made it harder and harder to come back here. To be sitting with my entire family (cute nieces included) and have to force myself to leave—for no other reason than my truck and my apartment and my job and all the rest of my shit sits 140 miles away—is what any ‘90s surfer dude worth his salt would call a “bummer”.
Therefore, it is with a clear conscience and a happy heart that I declare my intent to move back Home. It won’t be an immediate relocation, as I have to save up enough money to cover my expenses during moving—and I won’t pack a single box until I know I’m financially covered. It’d be ideal to find a job before moving, but it isn’t a requirement. Everyone in my family (and some who aren’t related) have offered me a place to stay while I adjust myself to my “new” surroundings, so I’ll have time to find a place. For the first time in over a year, I feel at peace…and that feels wonderful.
I’ll talk more about this on here as I mull it over. For now, I’m going to draw up budgets, timelines, and other things to occupy my energized and rejuvenated mind.