The City I Can’t Go Home To

The City I Can’t Go Home To

I think my family finally understands— or maybe they’ve just accepted— that what I’m doing isn’t about what anyone else needs. It’s about what I need. And right now, I need to move. To begin again.

For the longest time, I thought that would mean returning to Boise.

Boise has always felt like home to me. It’s my favorite place in the world— not because of what it offers, but because of how it makes me feel. There’s a kind of happiness in that city that’s rare. I’ve lived in a lot of places, but Boise has always been the one that makes my heart lift just by standing on the bench and looking out across the valley.

Even when life was hard, even when I was living out of a car, I still loved it there. Boise has that strange magic— it doesn’t have to be perfect for it to feel like home.

But now… now Boise feels like another home that’s been taken from me.

Jeff and I spent fourteen years together, but only two and a half— maybe three— months of that were in Boise. It was never our place. We had completely different lives before we met— different circles, different rhythms— and Boise belonged to the life I had before him.

Still, I can’t deny that if I returned now, a part of me would ache to reach out to him. Just knowing he’s there would pull at something deep and unhealed in me. His nearness would whisper old memories that my heart can’t bear to replay.

And so, even though I love Boise— even though it feels like the truest home I’ve ever known— I can’t go back. The city I love most has become the one I must stay away from. That’s a strange kind of grief.

So I’m doing the only thing left: I’m choosing a new city. I’ll step off a bus somewhere unknown, and maybe, with time, that place will call to me the way Boise once did. Maybe it’ll let me start over without ghosts in every street.

The date is set. I’m hoping to keep it.

But some days, the fear comes in waves— thick, heavy, tidal. It feels like walking out onto a ledge, the ground disappearing behind me. And all I can do is trust that when I step forward, something divine will catch me.

Because no human hands have come to hold me up.

So now, I’m walking forward in faith— raw, trembling, and still somehow believing— that the Gods themselves will meet me there.

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