August 1, 1989 - A Crossroads

     Every one of us comes to a crossroads in life. A crossroads is a point in time when a decision is made to venture in one direction or another.  I believe a crossroads can also be something out of your control that changes your direction.  Something that happened to you.  Therefore, sometimes you have no idea you are at a crossroads, and other times you are very aware because your making a choice.  Either way, it is an event that changes the course of your life forever and puts you on another path.  Many times, it changes who you are.  In my life I have had 5 events that changed me as a person or the path of my life.  These crossroads do not include my children as each of them have changed me in one way or another.   Today I am writing about one crossroad that was major and a choice.

       On August 1, 1989 I left my hometown and moved to San Antonio, Texas.  I was 18 years old and spent my entire childhood in the Quad Cities which is in the heart of the mid-west on the border of Iowa and Illinois.  Its hard to believe it has been 25 years since I packed all my clothes and belongings into the back of my cousins little hatchback car and drove to San Antonio.  Since moving there , people have always asked me, "why did you move down here?".   Many of them have this preconceived notion that I moved here with my parents who were in the military or possibly to attend school.

     The truth is I chose to leave home because I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I could "make it on my own".  How I got this idea in my head is beyond me.  I was on a good path already.  I had graduated from High school at the end of May 1989 and started classes two weeks later at a local community college.  I was motivated to get an education and pursue journalism or sociology.  I completed both of my courses that summer and was registered to take on a full load that upcoming fall.  Sometime during that summer I got it in my head that I wanted to venture off into the world and prove that I could make it.  It was a thought, idea, or a challenge that ate away at my inner self.  The only place I knew of that I had been to before was San Antonio.  And because my Uncle Tony and his family lived there I would at least have some family around.  Thankfully, my Uncle allowed me to stay with them as I made my transition. My plan was to get a job, go to a community college, and eventually move into my own place.

     I began telling everyone that I was going to move to Texas.  It just so happened that my cousin Justin was in town visiting his Dad and was planning to drive back to Texas at the end of the summer.  I never thought about it, but if Justin was not in town that summer, would I have even left at all?  The fact that he needed to go home (Houston) and was going to drive made it only logical that I help him drive and get a lift to my destination at the same time. Perhaps this was not a choice at all, maybe I was meant to move to Texas?  I remember my parents and grandparents  asking me if I was sure this was what I wanted to do.  Of course, being 18 I wasn't 100% sure, but I would nod my head and say yes, partly because I could not walk around for a few weeks telling everyone I was going to leave and then not do it.  I really had no idea what I was doing or what to expect.

     The date was set, August 1, 1989.  I had to say my goodbyes to everyone the night before I left
because I would be spending the night at my cousins so we could get an early start the next morning.  I remember my grandpa telling me that if I'm gonna do this I needed to understand that it wouldn't be easy and he didn't want me to give up and come back in a few months.  He asked me to stick to my decision, for at least a year.  "Stick it out son" were his words.

     Something that I forgot about up until a few years ago, was that as I drove away after saying my final goodbyes, I was overcome by a huge powerful rush of emotions.  So much so that I had to pull over because I could not drive any more with the tears, heavy breathing , and crying that came over me.  It was a breakdown of some kind.  At the time I rationalized that it was just sadness from saying goodbye to everyone.  I mean it was only natural to feel upset, right?

     A few years ago I realized the real reason for the epic meltdown.  I believe my inner soul knew I was at a major crossroads. The moment I had to pull over to the side of the road that night was the exact point of time when I experienced "the crossroads".  I was at a place where my life was about to change forever because my soul knew I would never be moving back.  It's so hard to even write that down.  In my conscience mind I've always had this voice inside telling me that eventually I would move back.  And the longer time went on , years passed, and I got older--it seemed less and less likely.

     Twenty five year later I have proven that I could "make it on my own".  I've built a life working, marrying, and having kids who will have crossroads of their own.  But for some reason I still have that voice inside telling me I will move back home one day.  Maybe it is just something that comforts me and helps me to keep moving forward.  Or maybe all along, that voice has been echoing from deep inside my soul.  Time will tell, but either way I am content and thankful for the blessings that this crossroads brought to me.