I was born in Texas, though I have few early memories of it because we moved away when I was 4. When I was 12, we moved back, and I made a horrible discovery: my home state was straight-up garbo.
Ever since, I was ready to get the hell outta Dodge. (Although I think Ford is the car company that people most associate with Texas?) My husband? Equally unimpressed with the Lone Star state, and he’d lived there his entire life, so I think he’d be pretty well informed.
We decided to head east. And we keep doing that.
I have a loyalty problem.
To say that I rarely move on from things is an understatement. Perhaps it’s my OCD, which makes it near impossible for me to change my routine in the slightest without spending weeks weighing the consequences. But, whatever the cause, staying the course is my preferred method of travel. (And given how the baristas at my regular Starbucks had a crisis of faith when I switched from coconut milk to almond, it would seem like that’s how the world likes it too.)
But, there’s one area in my life where I have no problem moving on: when I’m ready to get far, far away from where I live.
Read it here
Photo by Mercedes Mehling on Unsplash
