It is only in the last five years or so that my wife and I have even mentioned the possibility of eventually living someplace that is not Wickliffe, Ohio.
Neither of us has ever had a mailing address that didn't end with 44092, the zip code for my hometown and the only place I've called home for 48+ years. Born and bred, and well on our way to being lifers.
Except...maybe not.
We've tossed around the idea of living somewhere in the Carolinas, most likely North Carolina. Seems like a nice place.
We've talked about a far less radical move to Willoughby Hills, which is the next town over and a place that bills itself as being "where the city meets the country."
And just recently, Terry wondered whether we should move to one of the Olmsteds (Olmsted Falls, Olmsted Township or North Olmsted), which would cut my 45-minute daily commute by 75+%. An appealing thought, that.
None of this would likely happen until Jack, our youngest, at least graduates high school, and probably not until he graduates college. The boy just turned 12, so we have some time to think about it.
Moving south would mean not having to face the ordeal that is winter in Northeast Ohio. And it's not just the occasional snow shoveling and slippery roads I mind. It's the seemingly endless, depressing, gray slog that gets you (in painfully slow fashion) from November to March.
I know people say they like to watch the seasons change, but if we could arrange it so that it goes from summer to fall and immediately to spring, I think I would be fine with that.
Even a move to the southwest side of Cleveland – which is where the Olmsteds are located – would have its challenges.
You spend your whole life going to the same stores, seeing the same people at the same events, knowing instinctively where everything is. And suddenly, that all changes. You have to reorient yourself to a new existence, even though you're only 35 miles away from the place you grew up.
Most people our age have already had to do this in their lives, and they've done it without a problem. I just wonder how we would react.
Here's the thing: I would not consider it a disaster if in my obituary I'm described as "a lifelong resident of Wickliffe." I like this place. I really do. And I always will. But as time goes by, and as the place we grew up undergoes its own sort of changes, we start to wonder whether it's time to do something most of our friends did decades ago and fly the coop.
Jack is in seventh grade. In five years, he'll be off to college. He's the kind of kid who would likely adapt well if we moved tomorrow and he suddenly found himself a student in the excellent Olmsted Falls school district.
Him I don't worry about. But us? Change definitely gets a lot more difficult the older you get.
We'll see.
And I you keep saying and me
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