Hello.
It’s me.
Adele.
I mean, Katie.
I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.
To go over everything.
Everything I have written, am writing right now, and will continue to write.
They say that time’s supposed to heal ya.
Do I feel healed? No. Do I feel removed from my blog? A little. Do I feel daunted by this? No damn way.
But I ain’t done much healing.
As previously established, I also don’t feel healed. Am I supposed to? Adele, I feel you girl.
Well hello there! It has been—oh, I don’t know—a couple years since we last got together like this, and a reunion is long overdue.
What has transpired since you’ve been gone, you ask? Well, the short version is I moved 1,758 miles from Tucson, Arizona back to the Chicagoland area, lived there for two years, then moved 395 miles from Chicago to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Some other stuff happened in between, but I won’t bore you with the details. As my wise friend Pumba once said, “you have to put your behind in the past.” Thus, with my behind fixed squarely in yesteryear, I march onward into the untapped possibility that is the present.
Perhaps me phrasing it this way might create the perception I have something to hide, like I’m shrouding something sinister or have some unspeakable tragedy from which to shield you. And to that, I respond…
You are correct. I. Killed. Mufasa. [1]
Whoops! You weren’t supposed to know that! Let’s try this again. To that I respond…
That is simply not true.
I have lived three and a half wonderful, adventure-packed years filled with discovery and teeming with opportunities I had not imagined existed. I simply take this approach because there is no reasonable way for me to account for the last years of my life in one blog post. It is not physically, humanly, or otherwise possible. And if I tried—trust me—we both would regret it. This, after all, is a blog, not a diary[2]!
With this in mind, I thought long and hard about how I should make my grand reentrance. Ever predisposed to have a flare for the dramatic, I daydreamed about theatrics and mused about scintillating ways to wake my sleeping monster. Only one thing came from all this musing.
Nothing.
Nothing was good enough, nothing felt right, nothing “fit” the way I wanted it to. In other words, the only thing I produced was an excuse—that I should wait to blog until the spirit moved me—and wait I did.
Then, it hit me: I was waiting for something that didn’t exist. I had put everything on the line, suspended the beautiful potential of what could be, and was caught in a quagmire of my own indecision. I didn’t need the perfect excuse or the waving of my fairy godmother’s wand to revive Tobesurprised. I just had to take the first step.
Mark Twain once said, “The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.” Well, my friends, here we are: Step one. Let’s get this party started!
After living at home for two years, Cam and I decided it was time for a change of scenery. Inspired by memories of the hot desert sun and cool moonlit nights of Tucson, we settled on a tropical locale renowned for its exquisite, world-renowned weather.
Minnesota.
Yes, we decided, let’s move from one extreme climate to the next as quickly as humanly possible— That will be fun, won’t it?— and packed our bags for the land of 10,000 lakes. There’s a little more to it than that—Cam started his first year of vet school, and I may or may not be extremely proud of him— but it sounds bolder and more rebellious this way, so we will stick with the weather bit.
Minnesota. They really weren’t kidding when they claimed they had 10,000 lakes. Well, actually, they were kidding—they actually have 11,842—but like any good Minnesotan knows, it’s best to undershoot this statistic so the born-and-raised types can passive aggressively correct newcomers that they, in fact, are wrong, and their land is even more beautiful than one could fathom. Oh geez, I stand corrected.
In the early stages of our move I made three decisions I have yet to regret, and I suggest anyone moving to the Great White North should take a page from my playbook and follow my lead. Do this, and your transition to Elsa’s prison cell in Arendelle will transpire with unspeakable ease and flawless execution.
- I upgraded my parka game by shopping for a winter coat in July. Thank you, Back Country, for your amazing summer clearance. If we’re being honest, I sweat myself silly sampling down coats in the heat of summer, but I am reaping the rewards now while, as I type this, I am shivering with frostbite and have lost feeling in all my extremities[3].
- I went to Target. I feel like this should have happened first…and maybe it did… Minnesota is home to only a few Target stores.
- I bought this shirt.
This was my close second…
And with those three simple steps, I was prepared, ready for anything! Feeling like a true Minnesotan, I set out to discover as much as I possibly could about our new state. We ate our way through local cuisine, visited museums, and talked to locals. Despite our diverse efforts, we quickly settled upon our two favorite ways to explore all things Twin Cities: Biking and beer.
Biking and beer. These were the surprising catalysts that have helped us best assimilate to our new home. While I will save our beer excursions for future posts—let me assure you, there have been more than a few—I would like to dedicate these next moments to the seemingly infinite miles of bike trails Minnesota has to offer.
And that’s only the beginning.
If you have visited Minnesota without biking the Twin Cities, then you are doing something wrong. Cam and I quickly learned our way around the cities by mapping out numerous biking excursions, internalizing maps and committing trail routes to memory as if they were the names of dear friends. Before long, the lakes we lapped became our compass rose, and Luce Line and the Grand Rounds Scenic Byway became our reference points to directions when traveling by car. Already anticipating the bitter sting of winter’s wrath, we seized those precious final weeks of summer, soaking them up for all they were worth as we pedaled mile after mile into wildly exciting uncharted territory.
In those first weeks, we made a conscious choice. We would drive outside the yellow lines of the painted pavement, veer from the path most commonly traveled, and chart our own terrain. Arguably, we have done this since we met, turning the conventional on its head and avoiding the path of least resistance if only for the thrill of the ride. Now, as we traversed the trails only minutes from our new backyard, we quickly discovered there were no parameters: Nature took over and the yellow lines had disappeared entirely! What existed in their stead could only be a treasure-trove of limitless possibility.
Drawing upon my lessons learned “on the road,” I have consciously decided to apply this same liberating logic to resurrecting this blog. I long to hit the ground running, to navigate the unknown, to throw myself back into the thrill of discovery, and abandon those pesky yellow lines of excuses that constrain me from exploring what could be.
After all, as someone famous once sang, it’s no secret that the both of us are running out of time[4]. It’s true: We are running out of time. So get out there, do that thing that scares you, drive outside the yellow lines, and make it happen!
You just my stand To Be Surprised.
[1] TWO Lion King references in the opening paragraphs of this post? BOOM! She’s still got it!
[2] Although don’t the two mediums share a striking resemblance?
[3] Just kidding, mom, I’m okay! Special shout out to Santa for supplementing my winter wardrobe with some serious no-mess-around gear. You are, and forever will be, my hero.
[4] It starts with an “A” and ends with a “dele.” …It’s Adele. That famous someone is Adele.
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