"Where the Wind Comes Sweeping Down the Plains"

I think my friends Chris and Ally said it best when they declared me a vagabond. In my short life, I have lived in many different places for many different reasons. Starting off as a Navy Brat and later as a young adult jumping ship only to escape what could happen, my nomadic lifestyle has been booth a hindrance and a blessing.

The hindrance since I have yet to establish myself at any location. The constant uprooting and resettling creates a revolving door of friendships and contacts. While some friends last, many others unfortunately fall to the wayside.

The blessing, however, is the unpredictable. The opportunity to hit the reset button in life, immerse in new societies and discover what a city has to offer outside of the tourist attractions.

The month of April can best be described as an accelerated version of my nomadic life. Between Oklahoma City, Washington, D.C., Chattanooga, TN, and Dallas, I've logged more than 5,000 miles in my truck. I visited old friends and spent time with family along the way. And through it all, I learned two important things.

Firstly, I need to settle down. I need to stop moving around all the time and start living a "normal" life. The constant uprooting does nothing but wreak havoc on my wallet, my sanity and, frankly, my ability to grow up. It's a lot of fun to travel around and to live in many different cities. However, something should also be said for living in one town and traveling the world on vacation.

The second lesson, and probably the more interesting one, is how much of an Okie I really am. In high school, I always talked about taking the first plane out of Oklahoma as soon as I graduated. I wasn't going to look back. Chicago was the focus of attention and I didn't want to shy away from it. By the time I started college, at the University of Oklahoma, I proclaimed to be from Illinois. I admitted to going to high school in Oklahoma City but left it at that. And it was true. I was born in Illinois and I did go to school in Oklahoma City, but aside from visiting family in the Land of Lincoln, I hadn't lived in the state in years.

But the reality hit a bit when I finally left Oklahoma, six months after college. I had finished a campaign and was heading to DC to try out the political life. I wanted to be a congressional staffer and was determined to make it. Little did realize how many other kids my age shared the same dream, and how few positions were truly available to fulfil the dream. In the course of ekeing out a living, before I finally landed a job as a government analyst, I still mentioned that I was originally from Illinois but started mentioning Oklahoma more often. Of course, being an insane OU football fan helps bring out the Okie in me.

When I arrived in Chicago, however, being from Illinois became an afterthought. I would always talk about Oklahoma, bringing up the politics, the Oklahoma City Thunder, and Oklahoma football. I was beginning to take pride in my Sooner upbringing, and not just from the university. Returning to Oklahoma in April really brought out how much Oklahoma truly is where I am from. I may have lived in several other places, and have been born in another state, but Oklahoma is my home state. And I take great pride in that.

I'm sure many people, especially those in Chicago, will say Oklahoma has always been my home, but it usually takes longer for people to see the obvious. For me, it seemed to have taken a little over ten years, maybe longer. It doesn't matter how long the realization took, however, just that it happened.

That appears true for many people. We, as humans, are so consumed with the world around us that we ignore the truth in front of us. Even those who are consumed with themselves, the vain members of our society, cannot notice what is truly staring back at them in the mirror. And usually it is those conceited few who never discover the truth.

Sad, really, to think someone will live their entire life and never realize the lessons they are to learn and discover who they are meant to be. Or maybe it is they who always knew who they were to be but refuse to acknowledge it out of fear of failure?

"Do What Makes You Happy"

I remember sitting in the living room of my apartment a couple years back. I wasn't happy and didn't know what to do about it. I was talking to my roommate and pretty much decided on the spot to move to Chicago. It was purely based on me enjoying Chicago while being frustrated in DC.

After I made that decision my roommate's mother came to visit. She wanted to say goodbye since we had been fairly close while I was in DC. It was a sad parting, but an exciting one at the same time. What she said, however, reveals so much about her and about her impact with whomever she encountered. She told me that I need to do what makes me happy. This wasn't the first time she said that, nor the last. I can say that I took those words to heart and have tried to live them every day.

Do what makes you happy. It's a simple sentence with a complex order. We often hear people complain about their jobs, their homes, the city they live in, the friends they have. If we did what makes us happy, would we still be working? Would we move to the countryside to escape the trappings of the big city? Would we start a new life in a strange place?

What makes me happy is taking risks. That's why I like what I've been doing. Granted, the risks don't always pay out, but that's part of the fun.

What makes me happy is close friends. That's why I always make it a point to visit them when I come into town.

What makes me happy is going to new places That may be why I seem to move all the time and come up with new locations to check out.

That wasn't the only thing I took with me when I left DC, it wasn't even the only thing I took from my roommate's mother. As I mentioned earlier, we had been fairly close while I was out there. Some of the greatest memories involve her; a birthday gift (which I will always cherish) wrapped in box after box with each individual box wrapped, a trip to Monticello so I could indulge in my history addiction, trying new wines just because the label looked fun.

When I lived out there, I could see why everyone gravitated towards her. She cared for everyone who came into her home. Anyone who was friends with her daughter was treated with such great respect, and usually a great meal, that it was hard not to think of her as another mother, which is why many ended up calling her Mom. I knew a truly special woman while I was out there, and felt better off for it.

I haven't been back to DC since I made that decision and moved to the Midwest. I did talk to her a few times, letting her know how I was doing and that I was doing what made me happy. She always said she was glad to hear that and could tell just by my voice.

With friends getting married in October, I had planned to return to DC and see her again. But that wasn't meant to be. When I return to Virginia in a couple weeks, I'll be going to say goodbye to an amazing woman. It's surreal to think of it all, and I'm not sure if it has really sunk in completely.

I can only hope to keep her memory alive by doing what makes me happy. It seems like the right thing to do.