As I’ve mentioned, life has snipped a lot of strings that tied my life together in the last couple of years. After a near-year of contemplating my navel, er, life, I’ve taken a deep breath and decided to step out on faith. Or rather, two-step to Texas.
I live in a Midwestern city. I’ve always—except for ten years spent, first, in the cocoon of campus life and then, in a job in that same university town—lived in this Midwestern city. In fact, for most of the time, despite a population of over 2 million, I’ve lived in a neighborhood less than a mile from the one where I grew up. After my divorce, I moved on. Only three miles on.
And now I want to jump a state to Texas? Actually, make that two states. I’ll count Texas as well, since the place where I want to live there is just shy of an oil rig on the Gulf of Mexico: Rockport.
Anyone heard of Rockport? It’s about forty minutes north of Corpus Christi, on Aransas Bay. It’s a funky, part working-class, part snowbird-class, part upscale, part downtown, part shrimp-boat, part yacht club kind of a place. (You can see pix at www.cityofrockport.com - choose “Rockport Beach” from the menu; there are slide shows at the bottom of the page.)
I can’t decide if I’m launched on a hero’s journey or immersed in a midlife crisis.
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