So, I’ve been waiting to tell this story for a while now. I wanted to give it the proper attention that it deserves because even six years after the event, its still a whirlwind in my mind.
I always wanted to escape southern Indiana (funny now that all I want to do is go home), so when my then fiance’s dad lost his job in Evansville, IN, and accepted one in Dallas, TX, I jumped on the chance to get away. Nick and I decided that we would move to Dallas and live with his father, while my mother-in-law, Donna, and sisters-in-law, Laura and Susan, remained in Indiana to finish out Susan’s senior year of high school and sell the house. So we put all of our worldly possessions packed in a ridiculous number of blue Adidas duffel bags that may or may not have been legitimately purchased in a tiny red Ford Escort and drove twelve or so hours to Dallas.
We were filled to the brim and bubbling over when we crossed the Texas state line. We pulled over at the closest rest stop just inside of Texarkana. We were celebrating our freedom and the myriad choices we now had available to us with a quick little victory dance. Nick swung me around and then dropped me. Oops. 🙂 We were embarking on an adventure into the unknown and there was no greater feeling than rolling down the windows and holding hands, knowing that no matter what we were in it together.
I had been to Indianapolis and Chicago and a whole slew of places I thought were big cities. But I had never seen anything like Dallas. The Dallas skyline rendered me speechless (and that’s very hard to do). We had made it to the big city. We celebrated the new year with the world at our feet. We were ready to explore.