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After months of deliberation, prayer, and pouring my heart out to any friend who stood still long enough to listen to my tale of uncertainty, I have finally decided… to move back to Chicago.

Current ETA: early July.

I was scared on Saturday, when I was ironing out some of the details with my mother and I realized the full enormity of moving across the country… again. I have to sell my furniture, buy new furniture, pack up my car, say goodbye to my Angeleno friends and to the extended family I found out here. I also have to say goodbye to the city that caught my fall and, for better and for worse, let me call it home for almost eight months (I would be lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating some majorĀ Graduation Goggles).

But when I think about moving back to Chicago, that city that I love so dearly, I get really excited. I can join a spiritual community, a writer’s group, reconnect with my best friend and all my other friends who stayed in Chicago after I left. I know that I could probably find all those things in Los Angeles (except for my best friend, she’s pretty exclusive to Chicago), but… I don’t think LA will ever be home. Not the way Chicago was; not the way Chicago can be.

I had been thinking about my changing dreams and ambitions for a while, but fixing a date to my move just makes it all seem so real. At the moment I’m planning to move out, find a day job, work on my novel (slash novels. I’m outlining two and I can’t decide which one I want to focus on first!), and live my life.

Thanks for taking me in, Los Angeles, but it’s time for me to move on. I’m a pioneer girl at heart, and I have to keep moving until I find the place I can call home.