Coming Home to Dixie

As we pack up our lives and prepare to leave California behind, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the beginning—the very first time I arrived in this state with more questions than answers, carrying both heartbreak and hope in equal measure.

It was December 1999, and I had just made one of the hardest and most unexpected decisions of my life: I ended my engagement—just one week before our wedding. It was supposed to be a beautiful Christmas wedding in Sydney, Australia, where his family had relocated years earlier. We had everything planned: the dress, the venue, the guests. It was summertime in Sydney (it’s summer there when it’s winter here in the U.S.), and I had flown there to stay with his family and finalize the wedding details. But instead of walking down the aisle, I found myself heartbroken and untethered, not knowing where to go next.

We had met in college. He was from Jerusalem, a Palestinian Christian studying in the U.S. to earn his master’s degree in theology. He was also the pastor of a small Christian church back home. I was just back from a summer teaching English in China, still adjusting to the pace and noise of American life again. I had spent months in a country where the news was censored, where televisions only played cheerful local stories, and where global events—like the handover of Hong Kong from Britain to China—were carefully re-framed through a lens of national pride. It left me starved for information, hungry to understand the world I’d been cut off from.

When I returned home, I immersed myself in newspapers and global affairs. That’s how our relationship started—over deep conversations about the world, particularly the conflict in the Middle East. I didn’t know much about it when we met, but once I learned he was Palestinian, I dove into research. I wanted to understand, not only for him, but for myself. And it worked—our connection deepened through shared discussions about politics, peace, and our dreams for the future.

After he finished his Master’s degree and I graduated college, we moved to Jerusalem, where he lived. It was a rich, complicated chapter—intense, eye-opening, and deeply formative. But as the wedding neared, something within me began to shift. I couldn’t articulate it at the time, but I knew I wasn’t ready. The cultural differences, the expectations, and the sheer weight of blending two very different worlds began to take a toll. I couldn’t go through with it. And so, with nothing but a suitcase full of summer clothes packed for a wedding in Australia, I suddenly found myself needing to choose a new path.

That’s when my best friend from college stepped in. She was from California and invited me to spend Christmas with her family. I accepted the invitation, boarded a plane with my heart in pieces, and landed in Northern California—utterly unprepared for the winter cold, both outside and inside myself.

It was there, wrapped in borrowed sweaters and kindness, that I began to find my footing again. California wasn’t part of the plan, but it became a refuge. A place to start over. I arrived as someone who had just let go of the life she thought she wanted, and over the years, I built something better than I ever could have imagined. I built a career. I found my voice. I met Jim. I became a mother. And now, I’m preparing to say goodbye to the state that gave me all of that. And California, for all its flaws and beauty and contradictions, gave me the space to grow and carve out a life I could be proud of.

It’s strange now to be leaving it behind. This state has been my home for over two decades. It’s where I became who I am. But this move to Mississippi—it isn’t running away. It’s a return to something essential. It’s a grounding, a homecoming of the heart.

California gave me my wings, but Mississippi—Mississippi will give us our roots.

As we prepare to drive across the country, in two separate vehicles, with borrowed strength and slightly frayed nerves, I carry all of this with me: the girl who taught English in China, the young woman who studied conflict for love, the broken-hearted bride who chose herself, the attorney who found her voice, and now – the mother, the wife, the dreamer chasing chickens and wooly sheep in the green pastures of home.

This journey isn’t just about changing zip codes. It’s about honoring every version of myself that brought me here – and letting her lead the way forward. And so, with the echoes of the past in my suitcase, I’m ready to go.