Home is Where

My husband and I are trying to figure out where to live.

We live somewhere now. A very nice little house in Los Angeles, as a matter of fact. But lately I've found myself developing an urge to roam.

When I graduated from college, I starting looking for somewhere to settle down. A friend and I were putting together a comedy show and decided we needed to find a location where we could work without any distraction, so we pursued what we considered the most reasonable option. We put the names of several small towns in a hat, picked one, and moved to Santee, South Carolina, where we lived for several months in a small cabin in the woods. 

From small town South Carolina, I headed next to New Orleans; then Portland, OR; Chicago; Las Vegas; and Brooklyn. I lived for several months (and sometimes years) in each place, discovering all the unique experiences that these cities had to offer.

In 2001, I got signed by an agent and moved to Los Angeles. I figured I would spend four or five years here, see what the city had to offer, try my hand at a comedy writing career, and then move on again.

But then a few things happened. First, I got some work. So I stayed. Then I met a guy and married him. So we stayed. Then we had some kids, bought a house, and the kids made some friends. So we all stayed.

Then, one night about a year ago, I woke up about four o'clock in the morning to the following terrifying realization: I LIVE HERE. IN LOS ANGELES. THIS IS WHERE I'M FROM.

Wiping cold sweat from my forehead, I was able, at least, to acknowledge that living in Los Angeles was not what one would deem a terrible fate. I mean, it's sunny here 340 days out of the year. We live in a fabulous neighborhood and have easy access to amazing museums, beautiful scenery, and super-fun child-friendly activities. Plus, sometimes I see Punky Brewster at the supermarket. Which is awesome.

But for reasons that would take about six hundred blog posts to explain, I don't really want to be from Los Angeles. We have family in Texas and New York and Chicago, and we want our kids to be closer to them. Also, although I can say with absolute certainty that I do not miss the grey freezingness of February in New York, I do miss the seasons. I have an undeniable calling to have my children know from snow days. Plus, I miss getting to see my team play at Giants stadium.

Are these good enough reasons to uproot our children, sell our home, and move thousands of miles away from our wonderful California-based life? I'm not really sure. 


But I have a strange feeling we might just do it anyway. 

Destination: As yet, UNKNOWN.