On Friday, my husband drove our family out of the Las Vegas Valley for the final time. All our worldly possessions were already packed and gone, on their way to our new home in Wyoming, yet I kept craning my neck trying to memorize the skyline behind me.
I had initially thought, like many others I have met, our move to Las Vegas would be a temporary one. Nine years later, I had long given up on the notion of leaving. Sure, the summers were miserably hot, but the friends my family and I made in the valley were worth every sweltering day. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pack them up as well, but their example and the knowledge they shared are like a residue on my life that can’t be washed off. And my aching heart is grateful because of it.
It’s uncanny how often people have come into my life in the exact moment I need them. Sometimes those intersections were fleeting. Like a year ago, a woman brought her children to the park, and through a friendly conversation, I uncovered important information that changed the plot of the second book in the trilogy I was writing. Just a passing chitchat, but it saved me from a huge plot mistake that would have taken weeks to fix. Even more amazing, I’ve never seen her since.
This traveling into the unknown isn’t nearly as stressful as it was nine years ago, and it’s because of the Vegas Valley people. I didn’t just leave there a better person, I left knowing everything I’ve gained should be shared with others. So, look out Wyoming, ready or not here I come.
Thank you to all my friends in Henderson and Las Vegas. If I started listing names, we would be here all day. God be with you ‘till we meet again.