There’s something about leaving home that no one warned me about — it’s that feeling of fear or nervousness or anxiety in the pit of your stomach as crossing state lines away from what you’ve always known and into what you’ve never known.
Sure, I’ve left Los Angeles before — heck I’ve left the country more times than I can count — but I’ve always come home. Now I’m moving out of state and I don’t know if I will ever live in my home city again.
I knew the move would be hard. Here I am, a recent grad from J-School, saying ‘so long’ to family, friends, the city that I’ve always known, but not always loved, and moving across the country for my first newspaper job.
But here’s the kicker, right? I’ve moving to Kentucky. Me, a not even remotely religious, bleeding-heart liberal moving to the GOP-loving Bible Belt.
My friends have asked me a hundred times — and me father even tried to convince me not to go — but now, as I cross the California-Arizona border I can’t help but hear their voices echoing in my head — what am I thinking?
I almost turned back. I called my dad crying like a scared little girl and echoed the words that had been said to me so many times in the weeks leading up to my move — ‘This is crazy. What am I thinking? I’m moving to Kentucky? This is insane! I want to come home!’
I think I wanted my dad’s permission to come home and free-load a little while longer. But my dad, ever-wise man that he can sometimes be, just said ‘O.k. What are you going to do?’
This was not the response I was looking for.
There was only one answer I could give — I’m gonna to keep going.
So I’m onward and upward to the land of the unknown and I have no idea what to expect or what my life is going to look like in the coming months. And as I write this, I am clinging to the mantra that has gotten me to this border crossing: ‘One foot in front of the other.’