I remember quite a few years talking to this lady in her later 'teens, flying from Denver to Atlanta. It must've been 2am in the morning, multiple flight delays, I was hungry. I had done my pre-flight stretches (I always sit 'Econ' on Frontier/Spirit) and was more awake than someone that wakes up in the morning who had synced their circadian rhythm. And she was kind of cute.
She discussed how godawful and terrible her life had been growing up in the prestigious Oak Hills, Nashville in her young adult life, drugs to drugs, men to women, moving from place to place, home to home, and ruining anyone's life who allowed her too including her loving parents, she admitted. But she claimed to have repent and finally settle in the rehab, for good this time. I asked her how many times she moved during from the time of her birth until now. She said 15. She asked me. I said 21.
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The transition to Norfolk, Virginia to the metropolitan area of Denver, Colorado was the most gentle transition one could have. Leaving my high-paying job, destroying any chance of having a decent relationship with my ex, running up my credit card, not having any place permanent place to stay, and of course no job. It was probably the most important move of all. It was the only place I wanted to move to when I was in college, besides Atlanta. But I had and still have 200% faith that it needed to happen. I began to perfect my yoga practice, had free reign to run any and every time in the city, and I lived in one home for over a year, the longest time spent in once place since I was 14. But during my time in the midwest the details could have been more tight. Leaving my suitcase out in the middle my bedroom was psychologically breaking me and the inability to just go over someone's house and do nothing was heavy a strange yet relevant uneasy feeling. Everyone was "on-the-go" and it seemed like I made 100 associates for activities and 2-3 actual friends, who honestly had left or talked about leaving.
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Conyers, Georgia to San Antonio, Texas was (is, right?) found me in a move strictly to achieve my professional goals as an educator. It was the first time moving and having no desire to move. Georgia was and is my home, and I wouldn't have known if I never left for those 4 years. I rekindled and maintained friendships as well. Honestly it's not about where you live, it's only about who you're with. Plenty of times I exclaimed I would have stayed in Denver if a few friends and family were in the area. But the few months in Georgia, there was no reason that I didn't have to leave but plenty of reasons to leave. It's nerve-racking because this is the first area ever where I know absolutely no one and we are in a freggin' pandemic. But if someone offers you graduate school and a job then...
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Chester, Virginia to Norfolk, Virginia. First full-salary job. First time not backing down (professionally) from bullies. First apartment. First time getting a gun drawn on me. First serious relationship. My early 20s was a world-wind, mostly spiking in the area of the Hampton Roads. The 757 showed me literally what not to do in any sort of setting. The way I carried and conducted myself in that area was nowhere near the attitude or standard of any other area in my life. Everything seemed to be right in my face; whether it be bugs, my student's mothers, poverty, racism, lack of synergy. I never could fit in and build anything there. It was such a polarizing community and it made me wayward. I was going on a run and had to keep circling one block because the surrounding areas got me shook. My relationships with the people I loved made me feel comfortable sometimes but that place ate me alive and left me as crumbs. I hated the socioeconomic aspect of 757, even more than Hannibal Burress.
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But out of the dozens of places I moved, I've always appreciated the time and effort of living in those spaces. Moving to Texas also includes its firsts as well, but hopefully it'll include some lasts.
