I was 6 the first time I moved. My father wanted to start a business in Maryland, which was 250 miles from home. I was too young to cry.
Fifteen months later, I had just turned 8, and we moved back home.
Nearly twenty years later, I have lived in five different houses, four different apartments, a duplex and a dorm room, and I can’t figure out where I want to stay or who I want to be today.
I’ll tell you what I think I know for sure:
I am 27. I have five goldfish, four holes in my earlobes, three university degrees, two younger brothers, one loving boyfriend and a set of never-divorced parents. I say that Cleveland, Ohio is home, and I believe that. I have a large Catholic family with an Irish surname and illegitimate ties to famous ancestors. I believe in life-long commitment where I can get it. So far, I’ve found it in family, a couple of terminally patient friends, and a partner who doesn’t mind when I have very unfeminine gas.
I like vegan food and cable TV political shows, and I prefer dogs over cats. I pride myself on being a good communicator, and then I feel guilty for my pride. I am often rational and pragmatic to a fault and thus force myself to save trinkets for which I might one day feel sentimental. I don’t thrive in business offices but have little experience elsewhere, so I take photographs and write to save my soul. I may or may not speak decent Spanish depending on who you ask and how inebriated they are when they answer.
I like figuring myself out, but not so much that I feel boxed in. And yet here I am, writing to you from within this little box. Funny how that works, innit?