What makes a person stay?
I had this thought right after I said goodbye to a friend that was moving away. I tried to rationalize why she would want to leave here. I tried to understand why she and her husband would move to an unknown place so far away. I wanted her to stay.
The furthest I’ve ever been away from home was the season I spent at a guest ranch in Wyoming. It was my big adventure. I packed up my friend’s Chevy Citation and along with her and her patchouli-soaked car seats we made the journey from Arizona to Wyoming. My dad gave me a buck knife for protection and some parting words of advice. Even though I’d be gone for months I always knew I was coming home.
On the drive we’d pass through picturesque towns on hillsides overlooking the coast in California. I fantasized about living in the little bungalows minutes from the sea. I thought about the jobs I could work and the people I’d meet. “I could live here,” I’d say.
Once in Wyoming I settled in and I had the same thoughts while walking the streets in downtown Sheridan. “I could work at the grocery store and live near the mountains.” “My family could visit in the summer and we could go fishing. This could be my life.”
It didn’t last long. I missed my sweet home in Arizona. I missed tortillas and warm summer nights. I really missed my family. I cried on the 4th of July thinking about my family gathered in Patagonia watching the parade, enjoying hamburgers and potato salad. I missed the heat of the day being crushed by the downpour of a monsoon storm. Wyoming had rain but it didn’t have flash floods and the smell of creosote. I couldn’t live there.
Years later Zach and I traveled to the Texas coast and discovered the odd combination of ocean and Mexican food. Not like Mexico but more like Tucson. It was familiar and comfortable and once again I said, “I could live here. My dogs could play on the beach, and I could get a job in a restaurant.”
In Silver City, New Mexico I felt the most at home. It had a great combo of weirdos and ranchers, like Patagonia in the ‘90s. It had a good vibe and great tortillas. Zach agreed: we could live here.
Moving to Silver City, Sheridan, California or the coast of Texas would be easy if my family and friends agreed to make the move with me. That is what makes me stay.
Everyone I’m related to (with a few exceptions) live within a three-hour drive from me. Everyone I know can relate to the beauty of the desert and the grand smell of green chiles roasting on the grill. Everyone I love is near me and I can see them whenever I want. In Arizona I am at peace. In Patagonia I am forever at home.
So when people have the audacity to leave my world and set out bravely to live in unknown places I am heartbroken that I can’t see them whenever I want. My promise to you, dear friend, is that I will stay put so that you can always find me. I will be in the little painted house on Main Street in Patagonia, Arizona. I’ll leave the light on.