YELAPA, JALISCO, MEXICO – The last few weeks, I packed up 13 years of Denver, put it all in storage, and hit the road. My drivers license says I’m still a Coloradan, but my heart says otherwise.
People ask me where I’m moving to. I just shrug.
I flew to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, a place I have come to re-ground for the last ten years. It’s a home, not the home.
From here I’ll head to Chicago, where I used to live and where I feel very much welcomed. It’s a home, not the home.
I’ll spend some time on the east coast seeing dear friends. And much of the summer, I’ll be in and around the Midwest seeing friends and family. Home, but not home.
If borders are open, I’ll head to Europe this fall. And then down to Costa Rica, where I’m planning to spend future winters on the beach.
This isn’t vacation. I’m working harder than ever. But now when I finish my work day, I get to discover something unexpected, meet new people, and be closer to those I haven’t been able to see during the pandemic.
I’m sure I’ll eventually settle down again, and find the home.
But for now, the open road calls.