Six years ago, I thought I was moving away from Provo for good. I couldn't WAIT. I packed up fast and by the time I hit the freeway entrance, I was flying. I almost shouted out the window: see ya', suckas! And I was never coming back.
Then the universe laughed at me and sent me to Provo again two years later.
Good thing it did, too. When I lived here the first time, I worked and spent most of my free time in a different city, while spending the rest of my time rolling my eyes at Provo stereotypes.
Not until the second time around did I discover that this supposedly boring, stifling city is home to some of the most interesting, intelligent, wonderful people I've ever met. I know they didn't hide from me before; I just never bothered to look for them back in the day.
On Saturday, I'll move away from Provo again—this time, in a very different mood. I'm thrilled about our new place for so many reasons (can we say washer and dryer?). But I now know that I'll miss the apartment and the streets and the campus and especially the people who have made me feel so at home here.
Goodbye, Provo. Goodbye, little house under the stairs.
And to all you suckers who ARE sticking around this good little town: you can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not saying goodbye for good. I've made my peace with Provo and she says I can come to visit.