Memories of Coming Home (My Arizonaversary)

August 31, 2020

Everyone knows I love my home state of Arizona. Like every state (and every country), we aren't without our issues, or without some ignorant people who live here, but those are not a reflection of who we are as a whole -- and our state deserves better than to be associated with them.

It is the six-year anniversary of my triumphant return to my homeland after a period of separation, and like every year on this date, I'm thinking of how fortunate I feel to once again live in my favorite place in the country.

It was the night of August 31 when I arrived at my friend Cathie's house, who was generously letting me stay at her place while I figured everything out. Because I had so desperately wanted to escape my last place of residence and return to the Valley of the Sun, I had moved without having a place to live or a job lined up. Thankfully I had a friend here who made this a possibility -- and it wasn't long before I was able to get on my own feet. September 1 was the first day I woke up as an Arizona resident again, and began to work on the necessary tasks such as setting up a bank account, applying for my local EMT license, and looking for jobs. Similar to Muslim and Jewish holidays, I consider my "Arizonaversary" to begin at sundown on August 31 and continue throughout September 1, since both dates felt like moving day to me.

Last year, I baked a cake to celebrate the fifth anniversary, and shared it with the students of a religious class I used to attend. Other times, I have done things like hiking up a local mountain to be out in the state's natural environment. With the pandemic, this year's a little different, and doesn't allow for much celebration of anything; so today I decided to use this blog as a vehicle for celebration, by recounting a particularly fond memory (or three).

In 2011, I still lived out of state, but for my birthday, I booked a week-long vacation back home. It was the only the second time I'd returned since moving, and the first time I'd flown. My plane landed at Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport, which is a smaller airport in east Mesa known for being mostly outdoors. Unlike the larger airports, you don't board through a large tube that leads directly to the plane from indoors. When you board or exit your plane, you're going straight from the inside to the outside air (at least on the airline I was flying, but if I remember correctly, it's the same for all of them).

I had entered the plane from a cold airport in a relatively cold state (in spite of it being July). Of course it goes without saying that the airplane itself had a certain air quality inside as well. So when I stepped out of that airplane into the thick, hot, nighttime air, it was such a drastic transition. As soon as I exited the airplane door, it really hit me: I was home.

Arizona has a reputation for being hot and dry, but the air here has a certain thickness to it, especially in the summer during monsoon storms. It isn't quite humidity, but the heat is very tangible and heavy; it wraps around you like a warm blanket or a comforting hug. It envelops you. It was after dark when I landed, and I can't remember if I noticed it being visually cloudy, but it felt like there was a storm brewing. Not only did it feel like home, but it smelled like it, too. There's nothing like the smell of rain in Phoenix, whether you're surrounded by desert or blacktop. I've never had a more "Arizona" moment than this one, and it made me so emotional that I almost wanted to cry. I definitely wanted to stop and take it all in, savor it, but there were other passengers behind me who needed to exit the plane as well, so I had to keep moving. Luckily, I had a whole week to enjoy being home before I had to go back to where I lived.

The following year, I ended up in Arizona again for another week. The main purpose of my visit this time was to see two of my favorite bands who were performing together in Tempe, but I was also going through a lot of changes in my personal life that year, and my week in the Phoenix area ended up being a sort of "finding myself" journey. Walking along Mill Avenue and around Tempe Town Lake gave me a sense of peace I hadn't felt in a long time. And on my way back from that trip, I got into a conversation with another girl around my age who was sitting next to me on the plane.

Her reason for traveling was the same as mine, but also opposite. She was originally from Montana, where I currently lived, but she had lived in Arizona for two years. She was going back to visit her family for a while. It was October, and while the temperature had been in the 90's when we got on the plane, it was in the 30's where we were about to get off. Neither of us was happy about it. She told me that she'd been depressed living in Montana, and had moved to Arizona because it made her happy. I agreed and said that I was planning to move back as soon as I could myself. Before her family arrived to pick her up from the airport in Billings, she said to me: "It was nice sitting next to you. Be sure to get to Phoenix soon... you deserve it. Everyone deserves it!"

During that same trip, I had bought a magnet from a shop in Tempe that said in white text on a black background: "Leap and the net will appear." I had bought it as a reminder to myself that sometimes you have to take a leap of faith -- I knew that might be exactly what I had to do someday in order to move back to the place I was born, the place that made me happy. I put the magnet on my fridge as a constant reminder.

It was almost two years later when I was finally able to actually make the move. After searching for jobs for a long time, and having no luck, I decided that I couldn't let that hold me back anymore. I would be more likely to find a job if I lived there, anyway. It was time to take that leap of faith in the pursuit of happiness. When the thought occurred to me one night in late July 2014, it didn't take much contemplation. I knew it was the right thing to do, and almost instantly committed to it. The next morning, I gave a 30-day notice to both my employer and my landlord and began selling my belongings and making preparations. Barely more than a month later, I arrived at Cathie's house in Phoenix, unemployed and technically homeless. Six weeks after that, I got a job and was renting a temporary room. I still had a long way to go before I had my own place again, but that goal was almost within reach and everything had definitely been worth it.

Now, I've lived here for 6 years, but I never stop being thankful. The winters aren't as bad, the summers warm up my cold veins, and the autumn months are beautiful. I'm surrounded by palm trees, gorgeous sunsets every evening, and that glorious smell of desert rain when the Monsoon arrives. I've had a lot more opportunities since I moved back, too. I frequently go to concerts, the theatre, and other events (pre-pandemic, of course) that I would never have gotten to experience otherwise. I've had the privilege of volunteering with refugees and making new friends and getting to experience new cultures through our diverse population. I have the job I used to dream of getting. I have my own little apartment, which I love so, so much. And on the fridge in my kitchen is the same magnet I bought in Tempe in 2012: "Leap and the net will appear."

tags: arizona, home, anniversary, special dates, adventure, leap of faith