Running away to home.

On moving back to Cleveland to be closer to family, a slower pace, and a chance to rebuild.

I saw this shirt in the ATL and Vegas airport during Christmas and knew I had to have a Cleveland one. Shoutout to Doleisha for getting it for me.

I love running away from home.

It is a coping mechanism I’ve developed for when the happenings of my life and brain feel like too much is to escape to someplace whose grass is visibly greener. I’m sure that’s where my love of travel stems from and why I spent much of 2015-2017, when my mental health was on the decline, on the go. The opportunity to escape from where I am at the time, if only physically. Whether it's a last-minute weekend in the Caribbean or a quiet staycation at a hotel across town to take a bubble bath and sleep in a heavenly bed for a night.

I’ve been wanting to run away from home now since 2023. I was unemployed for the entire year, leaving my finances in ruin. Even though I found a decent-paying job at the end of the year, it was not enough to pay my monthly expenses AND save and pay down debt aggressively like I wanted and needed to do. Since then, I’ve desperately needed the chance for a do-over to get my finances back to where they need to be and this can’t be done in expensive-ass DMV. The only thing that kept me from packing up and jumping ship was that my daughter’s father preferred that we co-parent locally, and I wanted her to have some stability while bouncing between two homes. Recent repeat actions of his that have left me emotionally spiraling have led me to no longer prioritize that preference.

Last year I spent Christmas in Vegas with some of my extended family. I go every year, sometimes twice a year, but this visit felt so much different than all the others. My heart was full in a way that confirmed I needed to spend more time around family, especially during this season of life. Having no relatives in Maryland, my chances for family time are far and few between. So, in a hypomanic-fueled desire to drastically change my life, I began to mentally plan a cross-country move to Vegas. It was all I could think about for the rest of my visit and even once I got back home. It felt nice to wake up early and have slow mornings with a view of the mountains. Sipping coffee while journaling outside because the weather permitted it. I loved being surrounded by family and seeing Ava being loved on by our elder relatives. I got ten 1g pre-rolls for $40 (IYKYK). And I definitely appreciated not needing a coat to walk around the backyard at the end of December.

The last time I went home, I took Ava to one of my childhood homes. The first outside of my Grandmother’s that I remember living in and still remember the address.

I just knew I’d land myself in Vegas sometime soon.

It felt so right. In my hypomanic state, I began researching and planning all the ways I was going to make this work knowing that my and my daughter’s current life is on the east. I even started a note on my phone, organizing my current possessions into lists labeled “Trash,” “Storage,” and “Take.” And to seal the deal I sent my daughter’s father an e-mail listing out reasons why I needed to move there and noted how it wasn’t a request. But, as I’ve come down from that mania, processed a bit, and job searched in the market, I realized I had to be realistic. As much as I want to pack up my and my baby’s shit and head there right now, it is way too far to efficiently co-parent and would require tough logistics to make it work. Someone would have to sacrifice major time with her. Exchanges would be expensive. I had to resolve that I wasn’t going to be running away from home anytime soon. But now, as fate would have it, I’m running away from home to Cleveland, OH instead.

Or, running away TO home, rather.

I’m running home to a place I ran away from the first chance I got by way of an east-coast college acceptance letter, professing to never look back. Cleveland reminds me too much of where and who I don’t want to be. It’s both grey-looking and feeling, and I swear people in hell are thanking me right now for the Arctic freeze happening down there. There have only been two times in the last 15 years that I’ve seriously considered a move back to Ohio. Once, when my Grandmother and favorite person in the world was stricken with cancer and declining faster than we initially thought. Second, when I had my baby, and was depressed about the fact that she wouldn’t be brought up around my family primarily.

This past Christmas in Vegas reminded me of just how much I miss being surrounded by family consistently. Over the years I’ve adapted to not living close to family and only seeing them a few times a year. I have a wonderful community of chosen family in the DMV, but you know sometimes there’s nothing like being in community with your blood–talking, laughing, eating. And knowing when the vibe or mood has shifted and you need to make your exit. That is what I’m looking forward to most. I can have Saturday morning breakfasts with my dad instead of a phone call. I can smoke a blunt with my mom after a long day of work. I can shoot the shit with my siblings and grow abs from laughing. I can be active in my niece and nephews’ lives. I can attend holidays without traveling and the thought of being in the same place as my childhood best friends again makes me want to cry tears of gratitude and joy.

Of course, there are cons.

Like shitty weather and only seeing my daughter on the weekends (wait, is that a con?) Now and then, the thought of one pops up but I’m not here to talk about those (yet). I’ve had to sort of romanticize this move because, as I’ve told you, Cleveland was on my “never moving back” list and it took some serious self-assurance to be okay with it being an option. I needed a drastic change. A cheaper cost of living financially and emotionally. A slower pace. An opportunity to reset and rebuild. Connect and family time.

After being fired in December, I said wherever I landed, whatever my next move professionally and personally, it would just fall into place with the least resistance. I’m tired of life just being several big struggles happening concurrently or simultaneously. I deserve a season of ease, flow, and softness. And I’m fully expecting all of that and more to flow to me during this temporary move. The unexpected process that got me here proves my expectations for this season are reasonable. I’m in the final stages of interviewing and still applying. I get to keep a decent salary in a cheaper market. I got out of my lease for free because my apartment manager loves me. And I get to design the next year or so of my life in a way I wouldn’t have been able to tied down to my location.

Now excuse me, I have some packing to do.

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Currently.

Feeling — Sick. Me and the little one caught a little bug and have been down bad for two days.

Reading — Still making my way through “Disrupted: My Misadventures In The Startup Bubble.”

Listening — Listening to a book called “Evolving While Black”

Anticipating — Moving. But I’m overwhelmed by the process. I’m packing little by little this month and I already feel like just tossing everything and starting over.

Contemplating — What to eat.

Affirming — I have all that I need to succeed.

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Similar to this.

Posts of mine with a similar vibe:

• Laughing at God's plans.

• I took one of the "easy" ways out.

• I'm one catastrophic world event from believing we're living in a simulation. [Q&A]

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