In the beginning

It started innocently enough.

It was a weekend, probably, though honestly I can't really remember. My husband M and I were sitting next to each other, each of us at our respective computers in our home in Cuyahoga County, Ohio, when I decided to browse lazily, leisurely through job postings in other states. We had already traveled out west multiple times as a couple; M's parents, sister and her family, and my youngest brother all lived in California. My other brother was planning a relocation to Los Angeles, and my parents were frequent Arizona vacationers. We figured, it'd be nice to be a little closer to our family out there. We knew before we even got married that eventually, we also would head west; it was just a matter of when and how.

And then, on this day when my husband and I sat next to each other on our respective computers, I saw three -- count 'em, three -- job openings that seemed to be tailor-made for me. I excitedly jabbed M in the arm. "Should I apply?" I asked shouted. "Should I?!?"

My calm, type-B husband airily asked, "Maybe we first should think about where these jobs are located."

I began reading the list to him: "One is in Los Angeles."

"Do you want to live in Los Angeles?" he asked.

"Not particularly," I said. "It's...hazy there. And there's lots of...silicone."

"So where's the second one?" he asked.

"Some place sorta northeast of San Francisco."

"That's a possibility. 'Course, it's pretty expensive living in that region."  He paused. "Where's the third?"

"Not California," I replied, "but close. Southern Oregon, near a city called Medford."

And so we talked about it. The Oregon job had only a few days remaining to apply, so our talk was pretty quick. We considered that we'd be hours from a major airport. We considered the cost of living (about the same; higher real estate costs but no sales tax and cheaper utilities). We considered what it would mean to leave our Rust Belt comfort zone and relocate to an area known for, well, the opposite of urban industry (nature and the outdoors).

We figured, what the hell, you only live once. What did we have to lose? I applied. And a little less than a month later, on Christmas Eve, I got a phone call: They wanted to interview me.

I guess the rest is history. I'm typing this from Medford, in April, with the windows open and a sunny, seventy-something-degree breeze floating through the house. I smell nothing but mowed lawn and our dryer, churning out fabric softener-air.

It's an adjustment, though. It will continue to be, I'm sure. Hence this blog.