Newly divorced and free as a bird, a friend suggested I move a little closer to my old hometown of Dallas when my divorce was finalized. I’ll admit, living in the Midwest was more than trying during the winter months and I missed my old group of friends from back in the day. And so I found myself checking out apartments in Grand Prairie, which while not exactly Dallas, was certainly close enough to the big city I had grown up in while also satisfying my newly developed fondness for a slightly more quiet environment.
I had lived in Wisconsin for almost all of my marriage and while the winters were downright awful, I did enjoy living in a far more rural environment than what I had been used to growing up in Texas. My mother and father were both attorneys and had their own law firm in Dallas, so I grew up right in the heart of the city and believed much of the world lived as I did amongst concrete sidewalks, lots of traffic and people everywhere. It was quite the culture shock, as a child, whenever we visited family and friends outside of the city, but nothing really prepared me for marriage to the son of a farmer who grew up in rural Wisconsin.
My husband was a great guy, but as happens, we grew apart and our goals in life changed. The man I married who once had dreams to travel the world, was now perfectly happy waking at the crack of dawn to start milking the herd of cows and plowing the fields. We parted friends and even he thought a move would suit me well. Once all packed up, he handed me a big box with a cowboy hat and we hugged before I got in my car, with the little trailer packed to the maximum, and headed on my way.