Homesick

So, in September I became suddenly and oddly overwhelmed flying over my old stomping grounds in north Dallas.

Five years ago, it seemed I could hardly wait to leave.

A lot changes in five years.

Joel couldn’t wait to escape Iowa, and we moved to Dallas shortly after we were married. Me? I felt pulled in two directions. I’ve always been a Family First kinda gal, and I felt like I was betraying my parents to just pack up and leave for no good reason, since I don’t consider impractical adventure a good reason.

Obviously, I didn’t consider striking out on my own with my new husband a good reason, either. The first Christmas we were in Dallas, Joel and I visited Iowa. I bawled my eyes out the entire trip home. By car, that’s 14 hours of crying. I was so terribly homesick and denied myself the slightest opportunity to enjoy anything about Texas. I always felt guilty if I even started to like it just a tiny bit.

It’s not like anyone asked me to torture myself. I’ve always been a self-starter.

We built a new house, brought two children into the world. Life was pretty nice. But the life wasn’t in Iowa. My kids would never know their grandparents as I’d known mine. The guilt was overwhelming, and I remember one particular day, in a random parking lot walking back to my car. The tears welled up from God-knows-where, and I found myself contemplating my destiny on asphalt, wondering what in the world I was doing.

What does a girl do? Well, she puts the wheels in motion and forces her family back to Iowa! That’s what she does!

Joel hated the idea, but that man always wants to make me happy. So he found a job (with a nice pay cut and demotion in it for him) and did everything he needed to do to make my dreams come true.

A week before we were set to move, I couldn’t sleep. I was feeling guilty, again, regarding E and her little neighbor friend. What if they were destined to grow up together and be best friends forever? I felt I was torn away from my destiny when we moved to Texas. What if I was tearing her away from hers by moving away? What about starting school in the brand-new building, walking-distance from our shiny new house, with all of the kids on the cul-de-sac? I was seriously yanking E out of her preschool and dragging her to a portable in the back of St. Joseph’s in Des Moines?

Seriously. WHY was I doing this?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Too late, though. The job offer was accepted, the house was for sale, and we were leaving town.

It felt weird being back in Iowa, to be honest. The biggest change? My guilt had evaporated. Woo-hoo. It wasn’t the same as I’d left it seven years earlier. I imagined that I would be the best of friends with my in-laws and it would be barbeques and Christmas Eve every day. I imagined my parents would visit every weekend, even though the drive from Sioux City is excrutiatingly dull. I imagined that we’d visit Sioux City far more often than we actually have. I imagined trips to the Omaha Zoo and experiencing other things from my childhood with my own children.

Funny how those visions never quite materialize in real life the way they form in the ether in your head. The intentions are good, the effort is there, but reality isn’t a Christmas card.

And now I find myself surprised by crying over Dallas in a little American Airlines puddle-jumper. So much has changed since we moved back. Joel assures me that we probably wouldn’t have Ben if we had stayed in Texas. He assures me that I probably wouldn’t be physically or mentally healthy had we stayed in Texas, the way I was. I know, I know, I know.

But what if we moved back?

The very idea of mentioning my emotional plane ride to Joel left me feeling defeated. I could hear Joel telling me, “I told you so,” even though the dear man never utters such thoughts to me (even though I know he thinks them!). So I admitted it. I admitted that, yes, after all of these years of pretending that I absolutely hated living in Texas, yes, I actually liked it. THERE. I said it. My mother didn’t pass out. The world is still spinning on its axis. Dogs and cats are still at war. THERE.

Now I find myself cruising Remax.com, looking at houses in Frisco, the new place to be in Dallas for families like ours, just for fun. Still stunned at what the lack of a basement and a yard makes up for in granite countertops and hand-scraped wood floors and soaring ceilings. How different would life be? It wouldn’t be the same as it was the first time. We hit the jackpot with neighbors, and although lightning might strike twice and bless us with good friends again, I can’t bet on it. But we still have those friends and the many others that made the move from Iowa before and after.

What about the kids’ education? Yes, one of the major draws for Iowa is the educational system. But it’s very different from when I was a kid. I wouldn’t say the kids are receiving a mediocre education, but I would say that other states have caught up and are even exceeding Iowa, depending on the district. We lived in one of the best school districts in Dallas, Coppell ISD. Coppell High is very similar to Valley in regards to achievement, even a bit better. I’m pretty sure had we stayed our kids would have been just fine.

And Joel wouldn’t be tortured about cheering for his Valley kids when they play against his alma mater, Dowling.

What about the kids’ friends? Joel likes to tell the story about when he and his family moved to Ohio for his Dad’s residency when he was about Sam’s age. The kids cried and cried and cried…until they crowded into the U-Haul for the actual trip. Joel swears he didn’t shed a single tear after that. They were in a big truck, after all.

Even my mother has brought up the idea of Texas being the last safe haven for people like us, politically-speaking. Remember the tagline that Texas used in their travel campaigns a few years back? “Texas: A Whole Other Country” Well, that’s true. It has a strident vibe to it. The people are friendly, too. I still remember my shock at strangers starting conversations with me in the elevator. That’s something Iowans just don’t do. We’re all about personal space. I’m not saying Texas is a paradise of any kind, but it somehow seemed to fit better. Even through the veil of all of my self-imposed guilt, I could at least feel a sense of belonging.

Maybe Texas is where my family is supposed to be. Maybe it’s our home.

The decision would be so much easier if I didn’t have to pack.