Short of Lingonberry Sauce, It's Perfect

 "You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'."

~ Zack Brown Band, "Colder Weather"

I'm not entirely sure what I told myself all those years. Was it living twenty-years in the same house? Was it my parents' divorce? Was it the loss of my childhood home when I wasn't quite ready to create my own? Was it fear? Was it longing? Was it FOMO, the fear of missing out? Look, I have a degree in psychology and I've done several stints with a variety of therapists so please understand when I make this next statement. It's possible to think way too damn much. Or not think nearly enough. Looking back on this issue - one that plagued me for nearly thirty years - I realize that I didn't think enough. Or maybe I did, but not about the right things? 

There is little as frustrating, confusing, and convoluted as the human mind. And when it's your own doing all that? I think that's why most people shy away from thinking. The more you think, the more twisted and tangled it all gets. And the scarier it can get. 

I spent my entire adult life leaving, and rationalizing that I was born for it. It's not like I was a complete vagabond who lived out of a van and moved every couple of months. Nope, I stayed. Awhile. An average of nearly seven years, actually, and if we factor out the nineteen months I lived in Las Vegas, that average jumps to 8 1/2 years. So, one could say I gave every place a chance. I suppose I did. Each had their moments (years even) that gave me pause to stay, but it was never enough. No place ever truly felt like "home" so my search - as haphazard as it was - continued. 

It might be an overstatement to say that I drifted from place to place. Each move had purpose. It wasn't like I ran out of gas and money in Texarkana and decided to stay 6 1/2 years (Not literally anyway. Figuratively, perhaps). Nope. That move was a conscious decision, an investment in my future with my then-girlfriend who I thought was the love of my life, the woman I would spend the rest of my life with. She wanted to leave Western Michigan, conducted a national job search, and found a job in Texarkana. We decided to move together. Truthfully I jumped at the chance; I wanted to leave West Michigan, too. Girlfriend long gone and tired of living with a niggling fear in the back of my mind, I visited a friend in San Antonio and stopped in Austin on my way home to see another friend. In one short afternoon, I witnessed an open and fearless LGBTQ community and immediately decided to move. Ten years later, completely fed up with Austin, I knew I needed a change. My sister asked me to move to Las Vegas to be closer to our father. I agreed and off I went. Again. 

The bottom line is that I never wanted to be where I was. Was that because of the place? Or because of me? As I look out my apartment window at the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, I can confidently say it was both. Some will say I was too picky, that I should have settled and settled, just put down some damn roots and stopped making life so complex. I truly believe that this is how most people live - Here I am, here I will always be. For whatever reason, I could never buy into that philosophy. Do I think too much or do others not think enough? I am absolutely certain it's both. However, it was my  "over thinking" that got me here. To Asheville. To home.

Full disclosure, my now ex-girlfriend (Yes, lighting can in fact strike twice) did have something to do with my move here. She introduced me to the Carolinas (and Asheville), a place that immediately felt like home, and, when I decided to make the move, I was hopeful she and I would work things out. All that said, much like Sweden, North Carolina had been "calling" to me for years - I had the chance to attend the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill for grad school (I chose Kansas State, a decision I have NEVER regretted) and the Outer Banks have long fascinated me. When I finally came here last year, I knew this place was special to me. I always thought I would end up in the Pacific Northwest, but when I visited there in October, by comparison, I realized that the Carolinas truly felt like home.

When I did the math, Asheville just made sense. I wanted an LGBTQ friendly, politically liberal smaller city near the mountains (the desert brown-scape nearly sucked the soul right out of me) in the South (Shockingly, I missed humidity and not so shockingly fried okra and manners), with an affordable cost of living and four moderate seasons. With Asheville, I didn't have to compromise a thing. 

And finally, I love where I live. I have never looked around me and smiled and smiled some more, except when traveling abroad. Until now. I'm still facing the inevitable challenge of adjusting to a new place, but I know from experience it will all work out. If I can make my way in Texarkana, USA, I can make my way anywhere. Moreover, here is where I plan to stay. No more leaving, no more moving. Some of that has to do with Asheville, but before I moved, I made a conscious decision. I wanted to be someone who loves where she lives, so I crunched the numbers and found the perfect place for me. Sometimes being the person you want to be takes sheer force of will and judicious amount of over-thinking. 

Granted Stockholm remains my first choice - my favorite place in the world - but if I have to live in the US, Asheville is it. And you know, there are times I feel like I am truly living in my American "Stockholm." I look around me with the same wonder and amazement and a similar feeling in my soul, a feeling that somehow, someway this place is exactly where I am intended to be. Now, if only I could find some meatballs with lingonberry sauce and a cinnamon roll the size of my head...