In the winter of 2010 I was mad about a girl. Mad enough to make a dramatic plan to propose on New Year’s Eve. She never showed and it never happened and I returned to Chicago heartbroken to live in the basement of my friend’s house. I had thought about moving to San Diego before this, as my sister had been out there for some years, but never seriously. Reeling from the debacle, however, I resolved to do it, moving as far away from said girl as possible without leaving the continental US.
Then reality stepped in: my father had cancer. Back to Orlando I went.
After two years there he died and my mother and I headed to Huntsville, Alabama, where my other sister lived. It was the last place on earth I would have ever imagined living in. I was miserable but it was what it was. A year and a few months being there I got a job at the Barnes and Noble making minimum wage, but I met some lovely people. If everyone in the state was as great as those folks, it would have been a different story, but they were the exception to the place.
Yesterday, after a 2,032 mile drive, I arrived in San Diego. I have no job, no place to live, but I’m here and there’s a new adventure to be had and a new city to call home. My dream is still to write, and I’ll likely have less time to write, but much more inspiration and moments worth writing about and without those two things my writing becomes flat, meaningless.
Cheers to new adventures and new friends to be had and cheers to once again, finally, feeling alive and that there are once again possibilities and love to be had.