When I moved to Chicago in 2003, I was repeatedly asked why I was heading there. I merely replied, “I’m going to rollerblade and play beach volleyball.” I couldn’t really come up with a better explanation to why I’d leave my comfortable life for something completely unknown, so that two-item checklist had to suffice as an answer.
My subsequent years in Chicago were mostly good ones. I may have spent my first 22 years in Texas, but Chicago is truly my home. All the A+ greatness of that city aside, there came a point when it was time for me to leave.
Over the past two years I have moved to Houston to rebuild my parents’ house and get to know my niece and nephew better, Austin to reconnect with a dear friend and to meet her family, Chicago for l-o-v-e, then Phoenix to escape the aftermath of that heartbreak.
I’ve spent the past few months in Chicago, reconnecting with that former life of mine and recovering from a major illness. Winter blew in at about the time my strength returned, so I toughed it out and hit a few of the city’s many highlights before I headed back to Texas for the holidays.
Now that the holidays have wrapped up, I’m off for my next great adventure. In 30 minutes my alarm rings, my dad tosses my suitcase into the trunk, and I tuck and roll at the airport terminal. I have a brief yawn and a stretch in Atlanta before hopping another flight to my new home.