Here I Go Again
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve gone through hell, crawled out the other side, and swore it’d be the last time. “Never again,” I’d say, dusting off the ashes with shaky grace. Ten years later, the flames would greet me like an old frenemy. I’ve declared my last rodeo at least a million times—and every time I step into a U-Haul, I swear it’s the last time that overpriced beast and I will lock horns.
It seems my destiny never included a steady home or cushioned bank account. I don’t get attached to houses anymore; someone always finds a way to take them back. A big tent by the river or a quiet beach would suit me just fine. Let me be where the air is honest, the sky uninterrupted. That’s home. It’s always been about survival—but even so, I wake up each day thanking God for the chance to walk this beautiful earth.
I must’ve been born an activist, because at every stage of life I’ve planted my heels in the sand for whatever battles came knocking. Now, as a senior, I’m living in a 55+ “active” community—emphasis on the quotation marks. I once believed these places were sweet havens where we could age in place with dignity. Turns out, we don’t all morph into tender old doves. We remain who we are: bold, stubborn, loving, layered. Just with more wrinkles.
This first experiment in senior living? Let’s just say it’s been a wild ride, and I’m not sticking around for the sequel. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a flicker of revenge in my chest, but thank goodness I’ve learned not to act on those sparks. The people here have been awful, and the peace I crave is finally coming into view.
I move forward with more experience in my toolbag and, hopefully, a little more wisdom to guide the way. Odd how I always seem to be hauling boxes in August under that relentless Texas sun. Still, this summer’s been kind. My new place will be closer to my sister—who I love dearly, even if she occasionally plays the “older sibling, therefore boss” card. Boundaries will be key, but I’m hopeful we can age together with grace and just the right amount of distance.
There’s also a quiet joy waiting for me: a patio or balcony for George and Sam to stretch out and sunbathe. The apartment is light, airy, and cozy enough to call home. To take Sam outside, I’ll just step out the front door. No hallways, no elevators. Just air and paws and porch.
I’m trying not to jinx it, so I’ll just whisper it here: Here I go again. Maybe this time, it’ll stick.
A kind woman on X said, “If only we could build a world where everyone thrives.” From this day forward, that’s what I’m going to try to do.
Hopefully only one more Uhaul in my life.