We Finally Made the Texas Leap

For those of you who’ve been following this long-running “will-they-won’t-they” saga: the move to Texas finally happened. Yes, after a couple of years of talking about it, circling around it, and watching the universe throw up every possible roadblock short of a full-blown locust plague, the stars finally aligned—or at least stopped actively conspiring against us.

The catalyst? My wife took a great opportunity within her company—one that meant a move to Dallas and a shot at a leadership role she was excited about. That was the green light we needed. She headed down first to get started (and, let’s be honest, to temporarily escape the chaos of packing), while I stayed behind to wrap up some customer projects, squeeze in some final work travel, and play a solo game of 3D Tetris with our possessions.

Spoiler: everything didn’t fit.

The original plan involved one truck. A big one. We were confident. Overconfident, it turns out. Halfway through loading, it became clear that while we may be empty nesters, we are not minimalists. So I ended up renting a second truck—smaller, humbler, but absolutely essential—and did a second drive. It was a full-on family caravan: me, my son Nicholas, the second truck, and my very full car. Starting at 11pm after immediately existing my flight home from TechCon 365 Seattle. Road trip, anyone?

But let’s rewind for a second. The question that kicked this all off is one that many couples face after the kids leave home: Where do we want to live? With our four adult children plotting to scatter in four completely different directions, there was no obvious “central” family hub. We were free agents. So we looked at the map, factored in my wife’s job opportunity, and made the call to head south—closer to her parents, and into what will be our fourth state in nearly 35 years of marriage.

What can I say? We like to keep things fresh.

Now, we’re officially here. The house is a little smaller (downsizing: it’s real), but it’s very nice, central, and—most importantly—doesn’t come with a snow shovel. My wife’s office is just a short drive away in downtown Dallas. Her parents are nearby to the north. The DFW airport is ridiculously close, which makes it easier for us to continue traveling, or for the kids to fly in when bribed with BBQ. The geography just works.

We’ve already started our “new city” list: restaurants to try, neighborhoods to wander, parks to explore (I’m looking into fishing spots in the region, such as the Elm Fork Trinity River in nearby Sam Houston Park). There’s a lot to explore. Dallas is sprawling and lively, and so far, we’re loving it. There’s also something freeing about starting a new chapter.

This move feels like a turning point—not just a change of address, but a reset. After decades of parenting, working, moving, repeating—we’re doing something together for the next chapter. And it’s kind of fun being “new” again. New home, new routines, new version of traffic to complain about (Texas drivers are… confident). It’s not retirement. It’s not reinvention. It’s just evolution.

Will we miss our old home (and the mountains)? Of course. And yes, there were tears when we shut that door for the last time. You don’t live in a place for years without the walls holding some weight. But we’re excited. A little tired. Slightly sore from loading furniture twice. But mostly excited.

So here we are: two empty nesters, four states in, still figuring it out as we go. And if you’re wondering if this is our final destination? Nope. We’ll be here for a couple years at least (the last place was supposed to be 12 to 18 months, which turned into 7 years) until we final the house or the plot of land where we’ll build and plant some permanent roots. Until then, if you’re ever in Dallas, hit us up.