Six months has passed by in a split second, but there is not a day that goes by in which I don’t think about Iowa. As much as I detested it from the inside, I cherish it from the outside. In one week, I will be crossing that big green bridge and touching Iowa soil, the best soil on this Earth.

I love you, Iowa.

Within the first few years of my life, my grandmother owned between fifteen and twenty cats at any given time. I spent all of my time at my grandmother’s house, and the cats became my closest friends. I had no siblings, and I had no friends beyond the hours I spent at preschool. The cats were my closest network, and I adored them dearly. Sometimes I wished I was a cat, just so I could walk like them.

My first day of kindergarten clarified even more so that the life of a cat was much better than a five-year-old girl. I was full of mixed feelings - total excitement mixed with absolute nausea. And I looked like a complete idiot. I wore a red floral dress with starch-white stockings and black maryjanes. My hair was cut into a style I now refer to as the Bullet - a bowl cut slightly resembling a mullet. I was herded into my new classroom where I found many new faces and objects to look at - posters on every wall of puppies and kittens, bins to put our backpacks in, a colorful rug, and our very own potty. Everything was so playful and innocent, and I almost began to feel at ease. Almost. I can handle this after all, I thought.

I sat down at a small round table with three other kids. All of us were quiet and unsure just like the next, except for one girl name Mary Katherine. Mary Katherine was the mayor’s daughter, and she wore a pretty dress and a large bow on top of her head. Until I met her, I didn’t see a difference between poor and wealthy, or between nice and mean. But now I could smell the difference. From across that small round table and within just the first hour of my first day of kindergarten, Mary Katherine spit at me. I was too shy, timid, and inexperienced with girls like her to understand why it had happened. All I knew was that I had been spit on, and I detested little Mary Katherine.

In that moment, I swore off mean girls for the rest of my life. I also grew even more sure that cats made much better friends than humans. I look back and I wonder how much of an effect this had on my social life. I keep very few people in my life; I can count my girlfriends on one hand. Perhaps I’ve just had trust issues all this time, and I should let it be. Or perhaps, perhaps, perhaps cats really do make better friends.

If there is one thing I have come to realize about myself over these past few years, it is that I am a fickle-hearted girl. It’s something I have always struggled with but never put down on paper until my grandmother made me all too aware of it a few years back.

Looking at my life up until this moment, it is who I have been since I was a child. So many coloring pages left half-colored, so many chocolates left half-eaten, so many stories left half-written. People would always ask, “What’s your favorite school subject, Sarah?” I would be dumbfounded. “You mean I have to pick just one?” I could never be content with just one favorite; no top-fives for this girl. At nine years old, I would simply reply with, “Well, I like them all.. except P.E.”

This plague followed me throughout hobbies and college majors, best friends and boyfriends. I would either grow so bored with my subject, or I would simply find another muse more challenging. I chose to play the violin, only to later wish I had chosen a cello or piano or picked up a guitar. I would start painting a canvas, only to become distracted by a glimmer on my computer screen. As much as I would like to say it’s a sign of my intelligence to have been interested in so many things, I have to humble myself and admit that it’s only held me back.

I see others succeed in their crafts, and I am wondrous. Is it that I lack the passion and determination? I feel guilty every time I exchange my camera for a good book, or a good book for some bad television, or some bad television for a pen and paper. I go in and out of obsessions, and this website is strong evidence of that. I can leave it here for a month untouched, and then some little emotion can wrap itself around me and fill me up. I feel like my mind should be made up - my life’s cause - and I know now more than ever that it is far from being decided.

So may I ask, am I alone? And if not, why am I left feeling so damn guilty about it?

Today marks one month in this new city. The night we got in and the week following was trying. A walk in Venice and a flea market later, I felt more in my element. I’m not sure Angeles and I agree on everything, but I feel more challenged than I ever have in my life. And that feels damn good. I look around me, beyond the concrete and signs, and I see this absolutely gorgeous terrain. I feel good when I’m driving down the freeway, and I can peek out over the barricade at the valley below. It breathes life, and when you have the opportunity to look out over it, it’s hard not to do the same. Iowa is nothing like it, but home it is and will always be. What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart.

But that is not what everyone wants to hear. They want to know about the job, the apartment, and the famous people. I will not go into the latter tonight, but as far as the job, it has absolutely relieved me of what banking had destroyed in me. I had been with Hot Topic for almost seven years, so it only seemed logical to fight for a position at headquarters. But when I walked in, it became more than just logical - it became necessary. Completely open floor plan. No cubicles or private offices for the board. Music videos blaring. No one in a suit in sight. A stage for bands to play live. Posters and records plastering the walls. A dog run for pet day Fridays. A gym and locker room with showers. A cafeteria serving Starbucks. When they called to make the offer, I was ready. Last week was my first week, and I’ve already seen two bands and taken part in a cupcake & cocktail celebration. Life is good at the HT.

Once Justin and I both had our jobs secured, we felt comfortable looking for a place to live. When we found an absolutely brilliant apartment in a (not-so) fabulous neighborhood, I was really able to take in the idea that this was my new home. I relentlessly refreshed Craigslist listings day and night to find a reasonably priced apartment that I could stand sitting in, and I even surprised myself when we found this diamond in the rough. Stress the word rough. We have a few men living out of their cars on our street. I like to think of them as a Neighborhood Watch Program, but I doubt anyone else sees it my way. As far as furnishing our new living quarters, J.W. was able to keep me in my right mind, and we did so with secondhand items for just a few hundred dollars. Glorious.

So fast forward to day thirty, and I feel hopeful, a feeling that allows everyday to feel more than just bearable. Hopefulness is in so many forms now. I see it in the really amazing people I have near me. I see it in Justin at night, sleeping on our first bed in our first place. I see it in the contrast of a green hill against an overcast Angeles sky. And more than anything, I feel it in my stomach and my cheeks and my heart.

Or.. I just had too much coffee today. But really, I’m here now, and I’m going to make the most of it. Love you all dearly.

It started the Monday before we left. I woke up, began ironing my khaki slacks, and started to cry. There was no way around it - I detested my job. It literally hurt to spend eight hours a day in that pit. Yes, the company offered wonderful benefits, but what’s the value in a good dental plan when you’d rather get a root canal than go into work? I was at a rare point in my life where I had an opportunity to get unstuck. I called my district manager and put in my resignation. This overwhelming amount of relief filled me up, and I couldn’t help but smile. I knew in my heart, regardless of what others thought, that I had made the right decision for my life.

It was a risk. And another was on its way.

I spent the next few days and nights unsuccessfully trying to fit in all those last appointments, last dinner parties, and last goodbyes. Let it be known that leaving was more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. When it comes down to it, Justin and I are both saps. We had multiple outbursts throughout the last twenty-four hours of our time in Iowa. After spending months getting ready to ditch this place, we both left with our heads down and our tails tucked between our legs. We had greatly underestimated how connected we still were to our home.

Ready, set, go.

We got into my over-packed VW without a schedule or planned route. We headed south first, through Illinois and Missouri. Landed in West Memphis, Arkansas where Justin made his first attempt at repacking the car. In the morning, we headed to Memphis, Tennessee. Memphis felt good. It’s a city that fills with music even before lunchtime, and the energy flowed through us. We walked down Beale Street, looked at some shops, and passed the original Sun Studio.

Beale Street in Memphis.

And I dragged Justin to Graceland, which was a letdown. I always had this idea of Graceland in my head from the photos I had seen, and as I stood there surrounded by an acre of gift shops and tacky Christmas light sculptures, I had to give up that dream. It’s okay Elvis, we’re still tight.

Me! Graceland!

We went down through Jackson, Mississippi and bunked in Metairie, Louisiana for the night. Justin repacked the car for a second time. The next morning we drove into New Orleans, and nothing I have seen in my life here on Earth has compared to that city. New Orleans felt like it was cut out of America; it felt so very foreign, so very real, so very me. It breathed life into me. The smells, the tastes, the architecture. I felt so wonderful there, right in the heart of the French Quarter, and New Orleans, I swear I will be back.

A house in the French Quarter.

We slowly made our way out of New Orleans and headed to Houston, Texas. There we were able to spend a day with my aunt Susan, uncle Tony, their three beautiful children, and my grandparents. This is my father’s side of the family, who I was just reunited with over a year ago. They took us out to lunch, and then we spent some time at their house coloring and catching up. Oh, and Justin repacked the car for a third time. I could have killed him.

My beautiful cousins.

Justin’s aunt lives just a few hours north by Dallas, so we stayed with her the next night before heading west. The weather kicked in the following morning, and we decided we should try and get out of it as soon as possible. So we drove some more, stopping at a Texas-sized rest stop along the way. Justin repacked the car. Again. And we continued.. drove to Albuquerque, New Mexico next, mostly along the historic Route 66. So very rock and roll of us. This is where our drive finally became a scenic one. Albuquerque is a very cool city surrounded by very cool landscape. Even so, we only stayed one night and left early the following day.

Albuquerque, New Mexico

We headed to Arizona from there. On our way through, we stopped at the Petrified Forest National Park to see some old wood and the Painted Desert. Justin proved he’s been watching to much of Bear Grylls by jumping rocks. The red rocks were breathtaking. The desolation was relieving. It was the most silence I had experienced in my life, and I knew that once I left, I wouldn’t enjoy that feeling for quite some time. I only regret not spending just a few more minutes there..

..but the driving continued. We climbed up an elevation of 6900 feet to get to Flagstaff for a sleep over. It was snowing there, which was really cool. Thanks, world. Well worth the cold when we woke up the next morning. We drove down through Sedona. It’s been named one of the most beautiful places in America, and there’s no doubt it is.

Sedona, Arizona

Sedona is just a short drive to Phoenix, and Justin wanted to see the first home he ever lived in. It was a romantic idea, ruined by the man that now calls it his home. We simply wanted a photo of Justin in front of the house, and I had to convince the man that our agenda was completely innocent before he gave in. He watched as Justin stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, and I snapped just a few. We got it and ditched that town.

We got into California later that night, and once we hit five lanes, we knew we were getting close to Los Angeles.  By the time we got to Nikki and Larry’s, I was on edge. I’ll admit it, I was ready to repack that car myself and drive straight back to Iowa.

So I went to bed instead. Nothing like sleep to self-medicate. Something worked, because I felt much more calm the next morning.

So yes, we made it. And thank you to everyone who has been so supportive of us along the way. Love you all.

Just a quick note to let you know we made it to California, and a long overdue entry is in the works. But for now, we’re going to grab some breakfast, hit a flea market, and catch a movie. Love you all to pieces.

I stood out on that red rock, and pure silence wrapped itself around me for the first time in my life. A few seconds of that, and you are hooked for eternity.

We are at a rest stop in the middle of Texas, and Justin is repacking the car for the twenty-third time on our tour across America. God save us all.

It hasn’t quite hit me yet, and I’m not sure when it’s supposed to. I just know that it’s happening, and it’s happening very soon. We put everything less our clothes and the flat screen into a “MOVE” pile, but it still looks like too much. I swear I’ve worked it down as far as I can, so we’ll have to make it fit. I’ll ship clothes out there before I give up another book.

The next few days will be bittersweet. This place I have called home my entire life feels so mediocre at times, but it’s the only place I’ve ever been able to call a home. It’s all I know, and I know it well. It’s easy to feel comfortable here, but what makes it so comfortable is the same thing that makes it so unbearable. Davenport is undemanding and manageable, and quite frankly, I’m tired of living in a place that doesn’t push me around. Perhaps I take it for granted, and only after having an affair with another city for awhile will I be able to look back and appreciate Davenport more. But my life in this place is done for now, for at least this moment.

I’ll be documenting our trip across the country in my blog and on Flickr, so check back daily if you can.

Justin and I fell in love with Chicago over the weekend. The trip was our Christmas present to each other, and I don’t know of anything I would have wanted more.

We spent the small amount of time we had on Friday at a small Thai restaurant, where we attempted to replace Exotic Thai’s spicy basil noodles with no success. Saturday we wandered the streets, spent some time at the museum, did some window shopping, and ended the night with a bottle of Pinot and SNL. Sunday we stopped in Schaumburg on our way home, and when we got within ten minutes of Davenport, we immediately called Exotic Thai for takeout.

There’s something about being in a big city that fills me up. We spent our time walking, learning, smelling, talking, listening, tasting. At night, we left the window open just so we could hear the cars on the street.

The most surreal part of the weekend was the time alone with Justin. There is a never a moment during my day that I don’t want him sitting next to me, even during those moments when I want to kick his face in. To have forty-eight hours of him without distraction was beautiful.

I want to spend many more weekends in my life like this.