Nothing has made this gal want to leave Indianapolis more than a Marion County length commute on 82nd/86th Street. The meanness of it has driven me to stay inside all weekend escaping with movies like Baby Boom and Under the Tuscan Sun, and going on online journeys with The Frugal Traveler or Cynthia Morris.
I will always view our time here as a gift, because it’s been a wonderful place to raise Austin. He knows opportunity and diversity that he wouldn’t have known had we stayed where we were.
I also attribute my thoughts of escape to having never lived in one 6-mile radius this long. Same commutes, same stores, same people, same, same, same. Even Austin, who ribs me incessantly about moving him around too much because he knows it immediately conjures up maternal guilt and I’ll offer to either buy him something or cook him a real dinner, is ready to leave for Bloomington.
So I’m ready to work in Plainfield. I didn’t think I would be, but I am. I’m ready for highway drives again. I’m ready for new places to discover on my lunch hour. I’m ready for country (only meant as “non-city”) folks. I’m ready for a new view.
I also have thought and thought about moving in August when our lease ends. A smaller place, less expensive, possibly more convenient, makes sense. But I don’t think it’s time. The savings wouldn’t really make up for the cost to move, and I'm perfectly and quietly situated among a slew of retirees with disposable income for lots of travel.
And when I do move, I hope that it won’t be within the state. Another year. Or two. Greener pastures. Rolling hills. Sky to the ground. Water. Accents. Daydreams. Connections. Callings. And the womanly balls I haven't fully used since 2002.