You know how sometimes the right decision is the one you never saw coming? It’s so surprising, even to you, that it takes your breath away? This is that story.
For two years my husband and I have been thinking of places we could call home. We’ve been in the San Francisco Bay Area for ten years now, California for even longer, and have loved (almost) every minute of it. The palm trees, the ocean, the mild and consistent weather – all reasons we each moved here individually as teenagers. But then something shifted. It’s not that we loved these things any less, it’s that we loved other things too. We loved the idea of growing a garden, eating meals outside, building a tree house with our son, experiencing new places, and laying in our yard on summer nights to look at the stars. This desire to have space, to breathe, to slow down – it only grew. Every week I had somewhere new in mind. Maybe Mexico or Spain. New Zealand. Oregon. Philadelphia. Italy (seriously, if someone figures that out, please let me know).
And then Minnesota kept bumping around in my head – it was as though God was done watching us seek and search, so he just planted the answer for us, right in plain sight. An answer that was so scary to say out loud the first time to my husband. An idea that he embraced with enthusiasm and a never-ending stream of ideas on how it could all come together.
It turns out the place I spent my childhood is the place my child will spend his. And boy, is he excited for some snow.