Four years ago, on a trip through California, we fell in love with the western half of the United States. Each year since, we vacationed in Utah, Arizona, California again, Washington and Oregon, and each time we've told each other we hoped to live closer to these amazing places someday.
In two weeks, my friends. Two weeks. I will call Seattle my new home.
|on Lake Union|
People ask why. Why would we leave our house and the friends we have in Georgia? Why would we leave our jobs here? (We will do essentially the same work remotely for the time being.) Why would we change almost everything in our lives from the past eight years when we don't have to?
Because we can. Because why not? Because the way has been paved with grace and we have taken one step at a time in that direction and will continue to do so. Because the seed that was planted long long ago has begun to send a green shoot out of the ground and lean toward that light.
|North Cascades National Park|
It still hurts to leave. I've been all excitement and finally and this is happening, until about a week and a half ago. I cleaned off my desk at work and said a few goodbyes, made a weekend trip to visit some writing friends in Tennessee, and then began the following week camping with another writing friend on the Georgia/South Carolina border. I will go back to the office for a luncheon party where I'll get to hug everyone one more time. We've packed our days with bittersweet meals and outings with dear ones from church and work, trying our best to say "see you later," and not "goodbye." We make promises that we will be back.
|somewhere outside of Lincolnton, GA|
Despite my best efforts, I will be leaving part of my heart in the American Southeast. I've grown to love the trees and the soil, the sun, the drawls, the potlucks, the back roads. But our hearts are infinite things, if we allow them to be.