Willing to Relocate

Beau had a meeting with his supervisor last week, and they did some goal setting and talking about Beau's future in Corporate America. Now, let it be said that we really like Corporate America so far. Coming from Nonprofit World it isn't hard to be enthralled with the beauty of Corporate America. Especially when they reward hard work.

Beau came home from said meeting and told me, "I said I'd be willing to relocate." I thought, yeah. I've been telling God that for ten years. Obviously I was pleased that Beau said that. There have been times that I've wondered the same thing about him.

Then he asked me where I want to relocate to, if we had our choice.

Where wouldn't I go would be an easier question. Florida. Down south. I don't like humidity, and I really have no desire to move to Texas, Oklahoma, or Arizona. Nevada either. Most of those southern states hold little appeal for me. I think I would also decline the midwest. Why leave Michigan to go somewhere else exactly like it?

My quick answer to Beau was New England. He claims the winters are bad, worse than here, but I love the history. I've never gotten into Michigan history. We moved from here in 3rd grade, just as they were starting to teach it. And we moved back here in 7th grade, just after it was all over. So I know nothing. I can count the number of times I've even seen the Mackinac Bridge, and I once cut a college class to go to the Michigan Capitol Building in Lansing. It was the only time I've been there.

Michigan isn't "home" for me. When people ask me where "home" is, I tell them it's somewhere on the road between California and Michigan. The truth is that there have been three times I have felt "home" when arriving in a specific location. The first was when my mom took me to Oxnard, CA, in between my freshman and sophomore years of college. I was born there, and I think I'd like to die there, too. The second was when I crossed the bridge in between Washington and Astoria, OR. My dreams were born there during endless watching of The Goonies, and I nearly did die there. (Okay, a bit dramatic, but the story is a good one.) The third was when I visited the TeKrony farm outside of Castlewood, SD, for the 4th of July. Sometimes it's people that feel like home.

So I'd pick New England every time, because I love American history. And it's so rich there. Or maybe I'd pick Colorado. Ooh, or Utah. The mountains, snow . . . but I hear I'd need a big dog to keep away the rattlesnakes when I'm hiking. The Pacific Northwest is a gimme. I'd move there in a second. I also hear San Diego is lovely this time of year. Every time of year.

Now I'm restless again. Longing to relocate. Beau could have told them that, and I wouldn't have minded. "My wife is longing to relocate." Especially if Corporate America is willing to pay for it AND sell my house. Sign me up. But I'm not really looking for home. My parents taught me how to make it wherever I am. With my husband and my kids. With my pictures and my books and my dreams. With whatever friends I am lucky enough to have. Because there have been three times in my life when I felt "home." But none of them were really Home. I'll get there one day . . . and, yes, God. I'm willing to relocate.