One year in Milwaukee

One year.

March 1 was the anniversary of Chad and I moving to Milwaukee. It’s what I like to call our unapologetic, unhinged adventure to uproot our comfortable lives for something new, in an unfamiliar place.

When I describe it to new people, I stick to a script I’ve practically memorized. We decided, within the span of a month, to sell our house and most of our things. In doing so, we said goodbye to Colorado and hello to a city we didn’t know—all for the sake of adventure. (Sure, there was a job involved, but it maybe takes the romance down a notch.)

A year later, and Milwaukee is now our home. I’m not sure when it happened, exactly. That switch—when we stopped saying, “can you believe we’re here?” and instead, we fell into a sturdy security and truth that here is where we’re meant to be.

Maybe, maybe, maybe

Maybe it happened when we signed the closing papers on our Victorian house. Or, when our new mattress was stolen off our front porch. Or, when we put fresh flowers on the bedside table for our first guests to enjoy.

Maybe it came about when we tried soup dumplings at Momo Mee, sampled cheese curds from Lakefront, or tried grits at Comet Cafe. It could’ve been when we knew we stumbled into a culinary paradise.

Maybe it was the first time we were invited to a party, or the day Wally had his first report card from daycare. Or, when we were propositioned to join a shuffleboard league.

Maybe it happened on the waves of Lake Michigan, when the lake looked as big as the ocean. When, in that moment, our hearts felt an unadulterated peace. Sometimes it seems like I fell into motion with the water, and haven’t needed air since.

Truthfully, I’m less concerned with how and more impressed with with the here, the lively and delicious and exciting now. We’ve built this, over the course of one year. We did so through exploring and trying and jumping in with both feed, holding hands but not holding our breath. This city is ours.

What a year, what a city, what a home.

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