First Time Last Time
The first time I moved, I was ten, going on eleven. I was leaving Texas. It was fun to ride bikes under the 18 wheeler moving truck, but it wasn’t fun to see your bedroom empty and how small and quiet it really was. We said goodbye at the DFW airport, my uncle was the chauffeur. I always saw him as a grownup, even though he’s only 13 years older than me. In my memory, it’s been the only time I saw my uncle cry. I was astonished he wept since after this moment, both my grandparents passed and it was their funerals where he kept composure and even had a sense of humor. His eyes were red and full of quiet tears as he said goodbye at the gate. My mom on the other hand cried all through the safety check presentation and at the end of it, a flight attendant asked it she wanted an aspirin.
What she really needed were some of the kitty valium the vet had given her the day before to sedate our two cats for the journey. We were leaving Dallas and moving to Chicago. My brother was excited that a limo picked us up at the airport. He continued to be excited through out his life, acclimating and assimilating, losing his accent and eventually marrying a midwestern girl and buying a house north of where we were to live. I was made to suffer through giving up rock star status and my leadership role as a safety officer at my last school to being in a place where kids would ask me to say words like “tea” and then laugh because I talked funny. The day I turned eleven was the day our furniture arrived. Happy frickin’ birthday. Shortly after that, my internal countdown to senior year and 18 years of age started. I child brain thought that was the beginning of adulthood. Obviously I had some things to learn.
Inner voice was strong in saying “as soon as I turn 18, I’m outta here.” In later years, mostly in high school, this was often said with a view of my bedroom ceiling. I don’t remember being a rebel without a clue kinda kid. When people ask, my honest answer is that I remember being alone in my bedroom often, door closed, lying on my bed, trying to carve out a bit of quiet in a household of four and thinking it’s only a matter of time and then my life can begin.
Little did I know that it would take close to twenty years to return and hopefully be one on my last moves.
The last time I moved was about a year ago.
When I tell people where I’ve lived people ask if I’m a military brat but all my relocations have been in my adult life, always seeking a place where I think I belong. A place to hang my hat. I have possessed mailing addresses in Dallas (suburbs), Chicago (suburbs), Normal, Minneapolis, Los Angeles, Savannah, back to Los Angeles, Oxford (Mississippi) and now Austin, including long summer stock work stints in Daytona Beach, Durham, and Flat Rock, North Carolina. Many of these places are now very special to me and it’s interesting to not be a tourist and not be a local. Every time I visit Savannah, someone asks directions and as the retail turnover in the historic district can be yearly, it’s always a 50-50 chance if I can answer. The same odds applied when I went back to school in Oxford. As a graduate student, I didn’t have to use or know as many buildings when people asked me where something was. Oddly, this same feeling happened on a reverse engineering for Austin.
I decided a few years back I wanted to relocate to this city. Oxford was a detour and a friend once commented that “I missed,” if only for a short period of time. Through friends of friends and social media, I cultivated a group of people I would visit every time I came to Austin. I had cousins to stay with and I was one of “those” people that invaded the city for their version of March Madness known as South by Southwest. After staying with my generous cousins to relocate, I’m finally here. In Austin. Looking for where the next chapter will take me. I’m claiming my birthright, exploring as a born-again Texan. I was drawn to this city because it feels like art school in a way. There is an excitement and a spark to the people living in this town. Although coming up on a year, I still look to explore the things that were big sellers on my decision: get on the water and row again, get involved with the film scene, enjoy the music and the culture, figure out how to do more radio.
As I renew I tags in the next month and embrace that I’ve been here a year, I guess it’s good to review how I wish to put down roots and embrace what the city and state have to offer. So the first time I moved, I left Texas and the last time I moved, I came back.