My Life in Moves
a series of goodbyes
New Orleans to Albuquerque, age 2. My parents, who met at the College of Santa Fe, decide to open a coffeehouse, inspired by my dad’s experiences growing up as a musician in the New Orleans coffeehouse scene. They consider adding to the locally iconic cafés of the New Orleans landscape, but they both love New Mexico, and there, they can open the first coffeehouse in the state. That’s what they decide to do.
Albuquerque to Santa Fe, age 12. My parents divorced when I was young, at which point my mom was the owner of the coffeehouse and my dad opened his own coffee-roasting business, which roasted the coffee that she sold. My dad sold freshly-roasted coffee beans to coffeehouses all around the state. He decides to sell his business to a couple in Santa Fe.
Santa Fe to New Orleans, age 12. Working for this couple instead of being his own boss implodes spectacularly for my free-spirited father, who writes a hilariously no-holds-barred resignation letter to his bosses ending with “It’s been……..real,” and we hit the road for New Orleans in the dead of night leaving furniture behind. Absorbing this example essentially made me who I am, but I’m only just realizing that now.
New Orleans to Wheaton, Illinois, age 16. I have a difficult time in 8th and 9th grade in New Orleans and decide to live with my mom in Illinois, but I visit my dad whenever I can, and eventually he moves to Illinois so he can be with me for my senior year of high school. He writes a song about his brief stint in the Chicago area, “Land of the Tolls,” which is recorded for his album.
Wheaton to Iowa City, age 17. I graduate high school a year early, but leave college a bit later than initially planned.
Iowa City to Austin, age 23. I convince my then-partner, E, to move to Austin, Texas, even though we’ve never been there. I’ve been keeping up with the art scenes of the people I knew from New Orleans who relocated there after Katrina, and I want to be part of the otherworldly artistic experiences they’re creating. Initially, we fight about this sight-unseen move, but I win the argument, and we both win the experience, because E stays in Austin for almost a decade after and remains in Texas to this day.
Austin to Chicago, age 26. E and I break up after 5 years together, I move to Chicago to live with my cousins while I determine my next literal-and-figurative move. Through a series of wild ethereal happenings, Ian and I, longtime long-distance friends, get back in touch during my time in this city.
(Intermittant summers in Roanoke, Virgina where I get my MA in Children’s Lit through a low-res graduate program.)
Chicago to Seattle, age 27. Ian’s been to Seattle once and I’ve never even visited, but he discovers that he can get a transfer there through his current tutoring job, and after he expounds on the lushness of the scenery and the wonders of the food, I decide this sounds like a spectacular idea.
Seattle to Boston — and we can dispense with the age-marks now. Seattle is a complicated city and my relationship to it remains complex. But regardless, Ian decides to get his MA in History and we move to Boston so that he can. He does.
Boston to Sacramento. We live here briefly.
Sacramento to Berkeley. We live here very briefly.
Berkeley to Ukiah. This is a lovely California mountain town.
Ukiah to Salinas. I have a deep affection for this place, not only because it will provide you with the most life-affirming Mexican food this side of the border or because of its Sexy John Steinbeck mural, but because my work as a subsitute teacher with its middle-school and high-school students were some of the most remarkable and generative experiences I’ve ever had in or out of the classroom. I’m not doing Salinas justice here, but I hope I’ll be able to eventually.
Salinas to Placerville. This is a fucking terrifying California mountain town, but there’s a lifegiving coffeehouse to which I owe a lot, and the Sierras are beautiful, top-notch hiking.
Placerville to San Francisco. [Insert string of waterfall-of-tears emoji, each one for wildly contradictory reasons.]
San Francisco to Milledgeville, Georgia. No idea how I’ll conceptualize this experience once it’s firmly behind us.
Milledgeville to Athens, Ohio. We shall see.
