And then I saw fireworks

It’s no secret that when I was living in Austin, I missed Dallas the way I’d miss a vital organ. A vital organ AND a best friend. Some days, just to fill the void in my heart, I’d listen to podcasts from Dallas radio shows that I didn’t even like. And then there were the little things, like changing my car registration to Travis County, that brought a surprising rush of totally embarrassing tears to my eyes.

Which is why I fully expected an embarrassingly emotional day when I moved back here to Glorious Fake Blonde City. I’d pictured it all in slow motion, set to a song like Chris Daughtry’s Home - the long drive back would be filled with tears and maybe a big dramatic moment where I’d forget all about the steering wheel and throw my arms open and put my hands on my heart.

But when that day finally arrived, and I drove those three hours from Austin to Dallas, there was no crying and no clutching of the heart. Because my mind was completely consumed with only three things:

1.If I change lanes now, will there be enough room behind me for the U-haul truck and my parents’ SUV to change too without causing a 9-car pileup?
2.But if I don’t change lanes now, my friends who are helping me unload will leave and I’ll have to spend an hour on the other end of my brother’s murderous looks that clearly say, “I did not get a degree to work as a heavy furniture mover and WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY THINGS?”

and of course:

3.What’s going to be the best way to clean the floors at my new apartment? (well what did you expect a certified germaphobe to think about?)

So then I thought the embarrassing moment would come while I was unpacking. But it turns out that having a crew of loved ones (God bless them) helping me unpack means that I spend all my time saying, “that goes over here,” “don’t put that THERE,” and “you’re using WHAT to clean wha-?? Step away, just let me do that!” Well, then I was SURE that I’d really feel it as soon as everyone left and I was truly alone in my new place. But instead, when I was on the stepladder, filling up my storage closet or on my hands and knees, scrubbing baseboards, I found myself thinking about other things. Like how I’d kind of miss HEB Stores, Amy’s Ice Cream, and busloads of die-hard fans heading to Longhorn football games on hot, fall Saturdays. Even more often, I was thinking – ok, panicking - about how I now had a higher rent but did NOT have, you know, a JOB. And for some reason, that week, my portfolio was getting a lot of positive feedback from agencies in New York. So when one of my art directors, who was hustling in New York that week, texted me to ask me AGAIN why I won’t consider moving to New York, I’ll admit that for a fraction of a second, I thought, yeah, why is that again?

Luckily, the answer came in loud and clear last Saturday night at the Red, White & Blue Festival at the lake - and not just because my hair, which in Austin would have fallen completely flat by then, still held some curl. But also because as I sat, covered in sticky insect repellent from fake blonde head to sparkly flip-flopped foot, watching fireworks on a blanket 10 feet from the lake and surrounded by gay men, I finally felt it. For the first time since I’d been back, my heart said, I’m home. No embarrassing tears, no dramatic gestures. I’m not saying that I will never be at home somewhere else. I know there are other things, other people, even other cities that can change what makes life feel complete. But right now, right at this very moment, I am home.