Mom told me my dad wasn’t initially impressed with my college choice.

 

“Fargo?” He asked when mom told him she and I were going for a college visit.

 

“Why would she want to go there? It’s cold there.”

 

Cold there? I thought. Colder than my hometown, a measly 2.5 hours away? Doubt it.

 

I didn’t care about the weather. In fact, I didn’t even feel dad was right. As a 17-year old, the only thing on my mind – aside from boys, Ralph Lauren jeans, and keeping the plastic hub caps intact on my Geo Metro – was my career choice. I had to commit to a career quick-like. I had no idea what I wanted to do, and I really didn’t want to pick the wrong route. It was terrifying.

 

Ignoring Dad’s comment, I registered at NDSU because it had several majors I was considering – the perfect match for an indecisive teenager. Off I went in my Dad’s old 1969 Ford Galaxie “boaty driver” that fit every possession I needed to live a quality dorm life (the Geo was too small).

 

I finished in four years, despite discovering mid-semester my first semester that I tested into a math class so low that it was worth zero credits. Just in the nick of time, I added another class (bowling to the rescue!) to meet a 12-credit minimum for full-time student status. Then managed 18 to 22 credits every semester after because of the stern talking-to from Dad: I would NOT take longer than four years to graduate. Strict instructions I was willing to take from the guy footing the bill for my education.

 

Anyway, learning the people and areas of Fargo was fun – an adventure in and of itself. But Fargo wasn’t my end goal. Colorado held a spot in my heart that couldn’t and wouldn’t be replaced. I saw mountains for the first time during a high school trip, and that was it. The Rockies were my destination when my four years (max!) was up.

 

I graduated with a communications degree and quickly arranged my first full time job.

 

In Fargo.

 

I wasn’t brave enough to turn down a job in my field in the city I already lived. That would have been negligent. Plus, friends and family poked enough holes in my grand plan to head for the mountains in the Geo.

 

Five years I spent at that job, during which time the $8,000 tax credit for first-time home buyers came into play, a giant coupon too good to pass up. I remember calling my older brother and pleading for advice.

 

“First question,” he said, “Do you see yourself living in Fargo long term?”

 

“No.” I said, then proceeded to buy the house.

 

In Fargo.

 

On my next birthday, I received a card from Gramps. He included a $50 bill and a note: “Here’s a little something to help you work toward your dream of living in Colorado.”

 

I cried. Then I took a second job in Fargo, where I worked three years before finding third job, working an additional four years.

 

All in Fargo.

 

In the meantime, 90 percent of my Fargo friends moved away. Colorado faded from my dreams – it was expensive and too far away from family, which had expanded to include four nephews, two nieces, two supportive sisters-in-law and a tolerable brother-in-law.

 

The Fargo experience morphed from a solo college adventure to a half a family reunion. My brother built a life there, got married and moved to Hawley, Minnesota. My sister met her husband in Fargo during our only single sister adventure and married him years later, so relocating to Fargo was natural for her, too.

 

I began to think – was my sister and brother’s life paths the reason I chose NDSU and stayed in Fargo so long? If so, I’m impressed with my decision making. And they both are forever indebted. But despite their happiness and continuation down life’s path, my roots had gotten too deep. I was feeling settled in a community I didn’t feel I belonged. I was extremely comfortable but felt stuck. I hadn’t found what they had, and quite frankly, I was struggling for motivation to get involved with the community in a meaningful way. It’s obviously a great community.  Just not for me.

 

I calculated.

 

Came here in 2003.

 

It’s 2019.

 

16.

 

16 Years. Four times longer than planned.

 

It was time to try something new, but what? It’s a question that had tugged on me for several years.

 

At the end of 2018, a job in Anoka, Minnesota captured my attention. The job looked cool and would clearly fit my personality and interests well. And, it was in Minnesota!

 

It can’t hurt to apply, I thought, estimating a 20 percent chance I hear back and 2 percent chance I get the job (I have self-doubt issues). Before I knew it, they were asking when I could start.

 

I drew a blank. When could I start?

 

It was November. Thanksgiving was approaching. And Christmas. New Year’s… MY BIRTHDAY. I’d have to put in notice at my current job, sell my twin-home and get a new place. How long would that take? Do apartments rent to people with 106-pound canines? Could I tolerate living in an apartment again? All these thoughts raced through my mind while my interviewer waited patiently.

 

“Ummmmm…….” I said for the fourth time.

 

She told me we could address it later and we hung up.

 

When offered the job, my immediate response was not to take it. Why would any sane person leave such a comfortable, happy situation? This move would surely upset my family, my co-workers and the shrinking group of friends who remained in Fargo. I’d be leaving summer nights ziplining and boating with my brother and regular meals with my sister and nephews and niece. I just couldn’t do it. Plus, I had worked hard to make that house mine. Dad helped me plant a beautiful Autumn Blaze Maple in the front, I planted an awesome Birch bunch in the back and started the first garden where I learned to grow.

 

No. I couldn’t do it.

 

But there were these things – these monumental yet simple, tiny events. A comment here, a picture there. Like a stack of rocks on a path indicating which direction to go next. A sign – at least weekly – that confirmed it was time for a change.

 

Besides, as obvious as it is, nothing changes if nothing changes. I had to remove myself from my comfort zone and shake things up. I’ve come to realize this life is going very fast. I’m going to be 90 before I know it, and I’ll want to look back and reflect on some crazier things that turned out to be worth the risk later in life.

 

So I took the leap and honestly the last three months has felt like a movie. As in, I’m watching a movie of my life and can’t quite believe it’s all happening. I haven’t known when the next curve will come, let alone where it will lead. For a planner who likes her routine, that’s been difficult, yet exhilarating.

 

I’m selling my home and buying a new one. Until closing day, I live with my mom, and am really enjoying it. We treasure our time together and I’ll miss it when I move to my new place. Every day is an exploration of new areas and things. And some old areas, too. Being closer to home has jogged my memory and given me peace in this unstable time. Like skiing at the resort I grew up skiing at, or seeing the pawn shop dad sent me to with a $50 bill to get a softball glove in high school. I’ve been semi-tracking the entire transition in a photo a day, which I’ve made public in my 365-day Photo Challenge blog.

 

The stages of lists have gotten me to this point. Things to pack. Organizations for which to change my address. People to call. A move to organize (I’ve acquired more than fits in Dad’s Galaxie). PACKING. And A LOT of driving. It has taught me to take life one step at a time, because fast forwarding isn’t an option. Many things can’t be done without having other things in place first.

 

One. Step. At. A. Time.

 

So here I sit, in the middle of my transition. Or the tip of the iceberg, rather. I’ve concluded at some point you just have to go for it and let it work itself out. Will it be perfect? That depends on how you look at it. To me, a journey – an adventure – is about how the path unwinds, not that it unfolds perfectly. And, possibly more than anything, truly believing it’s all meant to be.

 

Cheers to the next chapter and the upcoming hurdles!

 

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.