when the desert doesn't feel like "the desert"

When I lived in Iowa (or Evanston) and had never ventured too far west of the Mississippi save for a few ski trips to Colorado, there was this idea in my mind that Arizona, and Tucson in particular, was magic. Magic to the key of never-ending skies, barren landscapes, and Paul-Bunyan-sized cacti. Cowboy boots, silver jewelry, and an always-full moon. Howling-coyotes, biting snakes, and sun that will fry an egg on a sidewalk in seconds.




When I got the chance to move here, I jumped at it. I had been in Iowa City for 8 months. Wasting time, unsure how I got there or where I was going. Unhappy with everything and everyone, especially myself and a job that had me in a basement cubicle, surrounded by beige and florescent lights.

But it was the job, the "I'll take this for now because I have no other options" job, that led me here. For that reason, I can not, for a second, regret the time I spent there.

In April of 2001, I had the opportunity to travel to Tucson to help administer the selection of the next class of Udall Scholars. I had worked on the Udall program all year, and was excited to finally meet the staff I'd gotten to know from afar and participate in the process. It was my first visit to the desert, and the flight in confirmed everything. It really was magic. I remember being surprised at the amount of green, the ruggedness of the terrain, and at the emotion that overtook me immediately.

On the second night of the event, I was approached with a job offer. It wasn't a total surprise as they had mentioned the possibility before I arrived, but I still don't think I was expecting it to be real. It was real, though, and sitting there, in my lap, waiting for me to decide what to do with it.

I took a walk to think about my options, mostly because I was excited to be out of the hotel conference room and moving along a desert wash.* The wildlife captivated me, and I was immediately distracted by birds, jackrabbits, and the awe of being somewhere beautiful and knowing it. Though I didn't consider myself a follower of Jesus at the time, I was in the habit of praying every so often, and I suddenly and overwhelmingly had the urge to ask God about Tucson. About this giant leap from Iowa and family and all that I knew to something so foreign and risky. And I did. I asked God.

Me: So, God, Tucson?
God (through an increase in the wind so significant it blew the hat off my head and peppered goosebumps up and down my arms): Yes. Tucson.

I've been here since, though I have had three failed attempts at leaving. This city, this desert, this place has my heart. And it has my heart because of the people I've met here, the people who have become as much like family to me as my family. You know who you are. Thank you. I love you.

Number Two: TUCSON. A city I love because it holds people I love dearly. The salsa isn't half bad, either.



P.S. I apologize for my overuse of commas. It's out of control.
*Turns out that wash was Pantano, by the way. Between Broadway and 22nd.