Coming Home to Kansas

I hightailed it out of Kansas as soon as I could, leaving the day after graduation for Chicago. I have a love affair with the city that's lasted longer than most of my relationships (the current one included--though that one's just as strong).

I never really was that sure of myself until Chicago. It felt like I suddenly woke up after waiting all my life for it.

But it was also the hardest thing I've ever done. After growing up in one place my whole life (time at ESU doesn't count), having the same friends, etc, I wasn't even sure I knew how to make friends then. But the nice thing about being an adult is that people get better at making small talk, and there were lots of wonderful dark bars there in which to share a happy hour and make close friendships.

I fell into library editing by accident; one of my uncle's friends worked for the American Library Association, and he got me a job. I put in a mind-numbingly dull year or two as an editorial assistant, then finally got a production editor's position. I thought that set me up in a career, and for a few years it was ok. I even considered going back to school to get a degree in Library Science, emphasis in YA lit. I made a lot of friends through work. For a while I was even the unofficial social chair of all the younger people at the association: Friday night would roll around and they'd look to me to see what we would be doing (that was weird).

I also volunteered at a battered women's shelter, panicking every time the phone rang, unsure of how to deal with crisis. After two years there, every Thursday night, things got easier, or I got more confident, and then they offered me a part-time job. For the next three years, I'd show up at the shelter at 9 p.m. every Tuesday in my pajamas, and hold down the fort by myself until the next morning, when I'd head into the editing job. I surely did have some sleepless nights, but I got used to it, and it was a nice part-time job.

But I felt bad for transforming a volunteer gig into a paid position, so I started volunteering for the rape crisis hotline. It was sometime in the first week of training that I realized I needed to be a social worker for real.

Chicago was a personal revelation and a huge ego boost. When I was in junior high, my mom likened me to the ugly duckling who became a swan (thanks mom! She is horrified when I bring up this story, and categorically denies it ever happening, but it did.) and said guys would be falling all over me when I got to college. Not really. It was after college. Damn, did I like dating.

I was in the middle of rehearsal for "Gorey Stories: The Musical" (I accompanied on the piano) when I met Tim. I was dating a few people at the time, so I added him to the roster. It didn't last long. Maybe a month. I was busy with the musical, recovering from heartbreak, and had some serious health problems*, and I could tell he would require too much from me, emotionally. But we stayed friends. About five months later, we got back together, and I fell in love in a matter of minutes.

(* I developed a bronchial cleft cyst in fall of 2002. The first ENT I saw said it wasn't a big deal, and I didn't need surgery if I didn't want it, then it grew to enormous proportions, got infected, and even morphine wouldn't touch the headaches. I got a new ENT, and surgery went swimmingly well. No loss of nerves at all, and no one notices the scar now.)

Tim was a scary guy for me to date. He's a wanderer, go-with-the-flow, don't-make-plans, passionate fellow. Someone who said, "I can't see myself ever getting settling down." And "let's see where life takes us" when I asked for a commitment. I told a friend that and she said, "If you don't see a future with him, why bother dating him?" Luckily, I didn't listen to her. He has gotten me to relax in my need for control. I wanted to be an ice queen, and he brought out my messy country-girl side.

We both looked into grad school at the same time, him for acting performance. We applied to the same schools, hoping to get accepted in the same place. We weren't. We discussed all possible options, and finally said, "You know, this decision would be a lot easier if we were married." And it was. We got married and moved to Alabama.

What? Alabama? Never in a million years could I have predicted this. The South is very much like living in a foreign country. For the first nine months, I felt completely lost every single day. If not for landing my job, I might have killed myself; I was so depressed for most of the first year. Now a year into it, I have discovered tennis, and have a few friends from work that I am strengthening relationships with. And things are better now.

Things I love about the south: Cheese grits. Cheese biscuits. Low country food at work potlucks. Words like "y'all" and "fixing to." It's easy to save money here because there's nothing to do. Winter is 40 degrees. Everyone is so stinking nice. I strike up conversations in the grocery store. Our apartment complex has a pool. The slower pace of life. Tennis is played outdoors year-round. It helps living anywhere when being married fucking rocks.

Things I hate: there are no sidewalks. I drive everywhere. I've gained 20 pounds. The summers are a million degrees. There are too many W: The President stickers on cars. All the good breakfast places are closed on Sundays for church. There are no good, quiet bars to have happy hour. The extreme poverty is much more evident here. I miss city life.

We have one more year here, then we're moving back to Chicago so Tim can have a go at professional acting, and I can go to grad school finally at Loyola.