Coffee, Cats, & Sarcasm

Two weeks ago, I flew to Iowa to be with my dad while he underwent surgery to remove a cancerous tumor and lymph nodes from his colon. All went as planned—they removed the cancer while leaving his resilient spirit and trademark sense of humor intact. Other than a brief trip to the ER last week due to dehydration, he is doing well and enjoying being home.

I am so glad I could be there while Dad was going through this procedure. I am also glad for the late-night talks I had with my sister, and for the bonding time I got with my niece, who I had the distinct honor of accompanying as she searched for—and found—the perfect dress for her senior prom in May. I am glad to have gotten the chance to reconnect with my uncle, with whom I have more in common than I realized.

Whenever I visit my family, I realize how much I miss them, and how much I miss by not being around. I always feel like just a little bit of an outsider—like I belong, but don’t quite fit. Thus, it is always with a mixture of relief and regret that I board the plane back to Seattle; though, inevitably, after each visit, I find myself asking the same question:

Should I move back?

When my husband and I moved to Seattle in June of 2014, we didn’t really have a plan. Both of us wanted simply to leave Iowa. I had always dreamed of moving to New York City (and still do), but my husband gently pointed out that because I had lived in Iowa my whole life, and the largest city I had ever been exposed to had a population of just over 200,000 people, that I might not quite be ready for a city of eight million (he later admitted that he wasn’t, either). My husband went to Western Washington University in Bellingham, and really loved Washington State, so we settled on Seattle. Before we came here, I knew next to nothing about Washington State or Seattle. I just knew that if I didn’t leave Iowa right this second, I never would. I was convinced that whatever was out there, the grass had to be greener.

So, we packed everything we could fit into Jonathan’s Toyota Corolla—including our dog, Stella—said our goodbyes, and headed west. We had no plan, no jobs, and the apartment we thought we had secured fell through. Yet I held tightly to a childlike faith that everything was simply going to work out. And it did—eventually. We were homeless for about a week when we got here, staying in different hotels and looking for jobs before finally finding an apartment with a young couple in Lake City. After six months, we moved (sans roommates, who had, in a rather dramatic fashion, split up) to Belltown, where we still live today, albeit in a different apartment. We both have decent jobs (after stumbling through some crappy ones) and two cats we adore—Stella went to live with a different family shortly after we arrived in Seattle, when we realized our situation was too unstable and simply not fair to her. She is now a happy, comfortable old lady, living out her days with a retired navy vet and his wife in Bremerton.

Though I often wonder what my life would be like now had we stayed in Iowa—or thrown caution to the wind and tried our luck in the Big Apple—I don’t regret moving to Seattle. The past decade has been one of immense personal growth. If I had stayed in Iowa, for instance, I may not have fully come to terms with my sexuality, or been brave enough to chop off all my hair. I have met some amazing people here. There are many reasons to love Seattle, though it is not without its problems.

I do, however, regret the way we moved. I wish we had planned things out just a little bit more. Then again, perhaps it is true what they say, that everything happens for a reason. If we hadn’t given up Stella, we wouldn’t have gotten to raise Prim and Hastings. If I hadn’t suffered through three years of a job I hated, I wouldn’t have found the job I liked, which was a stop along the way to the job I love. All three of those jobs brought people into my life who have changed me in some fundamental way and helped shape me into the person I’m finally learning to love.

So, no. I don’t want to move back to Iowa. For several reasons, both political and personal. I had to move away to find the person I was meant to be, and if I go back, I think there is a very good chance I will lose her again.

Plus, I’d have to get a car…and driving scares the shit out of me.

But I do want to travel back to visit my family more often. Once, maybe twice a year, if possible. My parents are getting older and coming to terms with their mortality, and I’m realizing that I didn’t stop needing them quite as much as I thought I had, and I think they might still need me, too. Plus, my sister and I finally have a good relationship, and that feels pretty darn great.

Iowa will always have a special place in my heart. It will always be home, because that is where I was born and raised and where my family is. Seattle, as the place I have lived for the past decade, is also home. I think it is OK to give that title to both places. I think, at the end of the day, home is not so much a place as it is a feeling.

And if we ever do decide to leave Seattle, we will do it in a way that is—hopefully—a little more carefully planned. :)