I Left Michigan with $500 and a Map

Decades ago, I was twenty years old with $500 in my pocket and a decision to make. I didn't have a plan. I had a map. I closed my eyes, picked a spot, and landed in Long Beach, California.

I never looked back. Until this week.

Coming home to Michigan felt like turning a page I'd forgotten was still in the book. Family. Old friends. The particular quality of Midwestern air that doesn't exist anywhere else. And a room full of people at D&K Books, every seat filled, who showed up for me, for the story of Terri I crafted for years.

That night, we took a boat ride. Lake Oakland at golden hour, the sun still bright and unhurried the way summer evenings are only in the Midwest. The boat glided through the water and I let myself be still. Willow trees cast long shadows across the surface. Lily pads drifted beside the cattails. Geese did what geese do, thoroughly annoying every dog on the shore.

We talked about statistics, linear regression, and matrix functions. We imagined futures where our children and grandchildren love to read. We traced the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings in the air with our hands. Someone pointed out the dock labeled Trudi's Pour House and we laughed. Fire pits burned on the banks, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted past us like a memory.

A fisherman cast his line for largemouth bass, pike, and bluegill. A boy poured sand from a bucket beneath dogwood and maple trees. The water moved in concentric circles, widening and widening, the way a single moment ripples into everything that follows.

I thought about cognitive dissonance. I thought about the version of myself that left. I thought about what it means to challenge the status quo from the inside of a place, versus from a thousand miles away.

And I thought: this is where I'm from. This shaped me. This is part of the song.

I loved being home.

Are you creating? ✦