On January 10th, we drove home.
Well, sort of. Los Angeles is already starting to lose the title of “home” in my mind.
The whole drive, Meghan and I were talking about how we want to move to Oregon. We pretty much decided that we want to find a rental home in McMinnville, and live in it as long as we need to in order to find our dream home, which we would buy. Buying a home isn’t in our current financial reality, but that is most likely going to change pretty soon. The books are doing quite well.
I’m an optimist. I’m too much of an optimist. I was thinking we could move soon, in just a couple of months if we wanted. Maybe that’s theoretically possible. But Meghan thinks it will be a lot smarter to move around June. Since she runs the finances for our family, I’m going to trust her judgement.
(Though I’m still going to tell her over and over again that I want to move faster).
I felt really sad walking back in through the door to our house in Los Angeles. Not because the house is bad—it’s big, the rent is cheap, and we’ve really made it our own home. But because when I look out the window, I’m surrounded by mountains of brown dirt. I guess any mountains are better than none, but I miss the green.