Saying Yes

I have lived in Austin, Texas for 5 years, a fact that would have seemed impossible to me before I arrived. A friend told me recently she knew I wasn't coming home when I flew away to Europe, and then came home to pack my bags for Texas.

I decided to travel because I was lonely, I was stuck. I had a sty in my eye that wouldn't go away- like a canary in a coal mine it dogged me until I finally worked up the courage to leave. Leaving home, and my family, and my comfort zone, took me most of my young adult life to find the courage to do.

My grandma, Nanny, had died of lung cancer, and our family was bereft, swimming in loss and the empty space she left behind in all of us. I dated a man, briefly, who flew away to New Zealand, and I was so jealous of his adventure- I yearned to be away.

Friends told me to go. They collected money and hid them in plastic Easter eggs, and gave them to me for my birthday. I cried, cracking open their brightly colored shells as dollars spilled out. I deposited the money in my checking account, walked to the travel store up the street from my house in Seattle, and sat on the worn out carpet. I had a stack of books: Eastern Europe, Turkey, Germany. I decided I wanted to see where my grandmother Ruth was from. I wanted to go back to Poland, to see the land my family was from, before they were killed in World War II. One of my best friends was working as a clown in Germany. A friend of our family was an artist and lived in southern Turkey. My trip came together. I bought a ticket.

My roommate Kyle, who had sort of acted as a surrogate partner, sans any kind of romance, had been my sidekick. He bought me beers at the bar, protected me when I was too scared (always) to go talk to guys at parties, even set me up with an arborist friend of his. When I finally left the blue house I had shared with him and Samm, one of my very best friends, he picked me up and swung me around and hugged me. I fought back tears, got into my sister's car, a house plant on my lap, all my treasures, clothes, and thrift store mugs safely wrapped up in boxes in the back seat, and we drove off. I felt terrified, and I felt free.

When I was in the bookstore in Seattle I remember pulling out a book on Texas. I flipped to Austin, looking at pictures of beautiful green trees and water in this far off place, descriptions of hot sun, tacos and brisket, a thriving art and music scene, and I imagined what a life might be like there.

This was in my mind when I arrived in Frankfurt, Germany, to stay with the brother of a friend. He was a teacher at an international school in the city, and he played in a Tiki Band. He loved rockabilly music, and Austin, Texas. In this little apartment in the middle of Germany, there were Austin bumper stickers, bats, and cowboy boots.

I knew that romantic love was hard for me. I am independent, strong willed, sensitive, and sometimes anxious. I am sentimental, stoic, and careful. I was worried I would never find someone who was a good fit for me. I was worried I would be alone, that dating was too hard for me. I left Seattle in large part because I had to shake myself up, push myself to date and reinvent myself.

I went to Berlin, and stayed in an empty apartment that belonged to a friend of mine. I drank wine, read paperbacks, walked to cafes and cried as I wrote long emails to my closest girlfriends and my Mom, convinced that even in a foreign country I was doomed to be beholden to my fears of putting myself out in the world.

In retrospect it seems to silly- I do remember crying and writing epic emails, and I also remember feeling so at peace and at ease, in love with my solitude, my chance to be in the world without attachment.

There are so many more stories I want to tell about that trip- milking goats on a farm in Poland, finding magic and friendship in Bodrum, Turkey, getting stuck for days in Frankfurt while the snow piled on the sidewalks . . .

Eventually my few months of adventure came to an end- I remember thinking that I could choose to extend my trip and stay, or use the money I had left in savings to make a new start in Austin. Texas called to me. My old job tried to get me back and I said no. My friends threw me a goodbye party at Ed's Korthaus on Phinney Ridge. We drank beer and whiskey, played arcade games, and said goodbye.

I flew to Austin with two suitcases and a guitar, like a character out of a Portlandia episode. I wore a lot of sunscreen. I bought a bike. I found a funky rental house in a neighborhood called Cherrywood. I decided to stop acting- something I had loved and worked at for much of my young adult life, and I adopted a dog instead. I got a job working from four to midnight at a hip bodega in downtown Austin. And then, I met someone. He was adorable, and polite, and worked as a pedicab driver on the weekends. I was still stinging from a breakup, but surrounded by a vibrant city full of eligible bachelors I hadn't known since high school, unlike Seattle. My co-workers Tim and Dan (thanks, guys!) encouraged me to ask out this young stud.

His name was Steven. Steven Markowski. I found out later he used to bike around to the different Royal Blue Grocery stores downtown (I worked shifts at all three) until he found me. I started to give him leftover deli food, broken cookies, and looked forward to seeing him. I finally worked up the courage to ask him out.

I stammered and blushed and asked if he wanted to hang out, then scribbled my name and number on a yellow post-it note. He said yes immediately. Steven, thank you, thank you, thank you, for saying yes.

We went on a date, then another, then another. Weeks turned to months, and flowed into years. We drove to the far reaches of West Texas, to New Mexico, to Colorado. We watched movies, went to restaurants, walked around all the parks in town. He showed me all the beautiful places in Austin. He bought me a new bike light so I would be safe riding home from work. He bought special dog biscuits, and was very kind and gentle, and convinced Guthrie to love him.

I got diagnosed with cancer. I had open heart surgery. He brought me a basset hound puppet, and my favorite blanket, and refused to leave my side for the week I was in hospital. He never wavered. He said yes to being my partner, to not turning away from fear or the unpleasant months that followed.

We have had happier times since then, and healthier times, too. We watch PBS at night, we eat Chinese food from Trader Joe's, and we have made our little house a home.

We decided to get married. I found a turquoise ring that I liked. He flew to Seattle to surprise me on Christmas and I got the stomach flu. He waited til we were back in Austin. He made me a scavenger hunt in the house, with photos of our life together, and letters. It led back to a little yellow post it note from years ago.

We are getting married in June, next to the San Marcos river. I am so grateful for my life here in Austin, I so thankful that I had the courage to say yes. Not only to love, but to change, and risk, and moving away from home.

Big things can come from small risks, y'all. And despite sickness, and loss, we never know what beautiful roads are ahead, just waiting for us to take that first step.