Moving to Colorado: How a Decision was Made

“If your world doesn’t allow you to dream, move to one where you can.” 

Billy Idol

A move, no matter the distance, is artless once the decision is made.  The hard part is actually arriving at the decision.

I used to think that, for my parents, it should have been fairly easy to move from Walker Street in Braidwood to the east side, on the other side of the tracks.  In retrospect, what seems to be a trivial decision to move across the fair city of Braidwood was, in fact, a major turning point for mom and dad.  

Both had survived the Great Depression of the 1930’s when employment rose as high as 25% and renting was the only option for many people like us.  In 1953, buying a house for $8,000 was risky at best, with dad being in business for himself, driving his truck to various job sites, and the weather dictating work days.

My parents probably endured many sleepless nights after discussing, and arguing over, the positives and negatives of making such a change involving their three young children. But, was their decision similar to the decision I made to move the next generation of Kennedy’s from Braidwood/Wilmington/Joliet to Colorado? Was it less difficult? 

I will never know how their final decision was made, but I can pinpoint the time when I came to the decision that a move was in the best interest for me and my family.  My journal from 1985 articulates the decision-making process as clearly as I could ever hope. (Reading it now reveals much more ego than I care for… but, it shows that at age 45, I had a lot to learn.)

November 13, 1985 in the Mountains of Northern Georgia (unedited Journal Notes)

I guess that this is my moment.  For as long as I can remember, I’ve been seeking a job that would allow me to move to a different part of the country.  A job that would be challenging.  A job that would enable me to use the latent potential that I think I have.  Now I have that opportunity, but why do I hesitate?

As the book says, before we can begin, we must end.  Mentally, I have ended my tenure at the College of St. Francis.  No question, I am ready to leave.  I guess I’m in the “transition” stage not as much for myself as I am for the other six family members.

It is time to be re-born, to enter into a new phase of life.  Of course, that means my former existence in many ways will die.  It is the rich, and not so rich, experiences of the past that will serve as the soil from which new growth will emerge.  The seeds have always been there, but before they can germinate the old must die.

The warmth of the November sun, intense and invigorating as it can be, can disappear ever so quickly with the passing of a cloud.  I can see those shadows move slowly across the mountainsides in front of me, but still I am surprised when I find myself shielded from the sun.

I’m not used to so much silence.  Even the falling leaves seem to crash periodically around me.  Upon further observation, I see that most of the noise occurs before they touch the ground. Their journey from the safety and security of the branch begins with a bounce from limbs and branches jutting out from the tree.  Some leaves rest for a while on this temporary spot until a breeze encourages them to continue their trip to the ultimate destination.  Interestingly enough, their landing on the earth is much softer and quieter than the trip itself. Their arrival is often greeted by other leaves that already made the trip.  They soften their arrival with seeming kindness.

Stronger breezes encourage other leaves to hasten their downward journey. They have hung on too long and need a little push.  Other leaves, because of their own stupid obstinacy, or because their journey was halted by entangling branches, are trapped only to encounter winter from a lonely altitude, without peers, and unprotected by the earth.

The main character, the tree, must regularly rid itself of these trappings, beautiful as they were during prior times, so that new growth can appear in a few short months.  The oak, a deciduous tree of another kind, may retain some of its leaves throughout the winter and will shed them in early spring. The coniferous evergreen maintains steady, primitive growth without shedding all of its green.  However, when they are crowded by other trees, bare sections are there for al to observe.

So, what kind of tree am I? An oak trying to be a fir tree?.  A pine tree trying to be a maple. A catalpa? (I hope not.) An elm or a willow? Maybe I’m a small forest of different kinds of trees.

I would like to be a maple. A relatively fast grower, it doesn’t have the strength of the oak, but it doesn’t take generations to develop. It can be transplanted fairly easily without lots of care.  Its leaves are full and beautiful while providing a panorama of beauty in the fall.

So, where does all this bring me?  My gut feeling is to make the move to Denver.

Looking back at this journal entry, I can see how our family was noisily disrupted and forever altered in so many ways, mostly constructive.  Had we stayed in Illinois, four of our kids’ spouses would have been different, my nieces and a nephew may not be in Colorado, and all of our careers would have been dramatically different.  Other relatives would not have been relocated here. We would have a different variety of grandkids! 

The move from the west side to the east side of Braidwood meant that we no longer had a baseball field next to us, but now we had the wilderness of the Recreation Club and the “Q” hill for outdoor adventures.  We had new neighbors and new friends next door.  

The leap my parents made in buying a house in another part of town was a good decision, one that yielded more plusses than minuses.  At that time of my life, it was a significant change, a change that was comparable to our later move to Colorado. 

Both transitions were noisy and troublesome, bouncing from limb to limb, tossing and turning at the whim of the breeze, but landing comfortably and softly on the earth among wonderful new companions, all eager to continue the cycle of new life. 

“Move out of your comfort zone. You can only grow if you are willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.” 

Brian Tracy