Lemondrop

Two years ago, if you asked me where Omaha was located, I would've said, "Nebraska." And if you asked me where Nebraska was, I'd have answered, "Somewhere in Middle America." According to the Counting Crows (my all-time favorite band), I would have been correct. But to be truthful, I probably wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the Cornhusker state on a map. I'd likely get it confused with Wyoming or Kansas. (I still don't know where Idaho is.)

It's not that I had anything against the lovely state of Nebraska or its largest city. It's just that I had no real reason to care. I only thought about the heartland when I was flying over it (look at all that farmland!) or when those red states voted against a Democratic candidate who I supported. I am an East Coast girl, born and bred. I grew up in New Jersey, went to college in Massachusetts and lived in Washington, D.C. and then New York City. I walked fast, talked fast and never made eye contact with other pedestrians.

After a couple of years of living, working and dating in Manhattan, I began dreaming about where I would go next. I was a city-hopper. Perhaps I'd move to San Diego, where I'd no longer suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. Or I'd go back to Sydney, Australia, where I spent a semester studying abroad. Or maybe I'd cross the pond to London, where I'd meet some bloke, get married and have babies who'd call me "mummy."

But I ended up in Omaha, Nebraska. How did I get here? Wouldn't you like to know?! Follow me, as I blog about moving far away from my family to be with the (military!) man of my dreams ... about leaving my job and not knowing what to do next ... about making new friends and missing my old ones ... about getting married and watching my husband deploy just two weeks after our wedding ... and about my struggle to discover myself and my place in this world (cue Michael W. Smith's 1990 crossover hit).

Being an East Coaster in the Midwest, there've been many adjustments to make, some easier than others (I'm sorry, but I refuse to call carbonated beverages "pop"). As a result, I have a lot of stories to tell. I hope you'll stick around to hear them all.