Get Me Back To Austin

Right now there’s a for-sale sign outside the house my wife and I spent the first 10 years of our marriage buying land for, building, and inhabiting. I never thought we’d leave Horseshoe Bay—it’s been idyllic to me since childhood when we spent summer weekends driving the 5 hours from Houston to enjoy Lake LBJ and the Texas Hill Country. And this house—we spent so many hours of our lives picking out paint and cabinet pulls. We’re proud of the home we built together.

But things change. We have 2 amazing kids whose friends are in Austin. Our friends are in Austin. In April, for many reasons, it became apparent it was time to make the move back to the town we lived in as newlyweds. It’s only a 50 mile move, but I’m thrilled to soon be officially calling Austin home again this summer. Also, this will be the closest I’ve been to the other two Amigos, and we’re really excited to all be in the same town.

My excitement, however, doesn’t make that for-sale sign any less surreal. Life doesn’t give two shits about how perfect your combination of paint and drawer pulls is. And now, I’m relieved to find that neither do I. When it’s time to move you move, and I couldn’t be happier.

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