I Survived

In a cab, visiting the lovely city of Chicago, the driver turns to me and says, "So where ya from?"

I've come to hate that question. The answer gets stuck in my throat.

Ron took to our east coast move like a duck to water. Me -- not so much. I love the people, but haven't connected with the geographical region. Ron will always say, "We live in DC," and I'm constantly chiming in over his shoulder: "But we just moved from LA," or "But my heart is still in California."

It's been 15 months. California is starting to feel farther and farther away. Saying, "I'm from LA" doesn't feel so truthful anymore (and that little fact just about causes me to burst out crying).

So when the cabby asked me, "So where ya from?" I said: "I'm from W...Wash...WashingtonDCough."

I thought someone was going to have to rush over with a breathing tube and those little metal paddles to resuscitate me, but alas, I didn't die.

I said it, and I survived.