Just when you thought Sunday couldn’t get weird.
We here at the Scalzi Compound passed a milestone this last week; ten years ago last week, we moved into our house here in Bradford, thereby beginning our sojourn here in Ohio.
In the not too recent past I wrote about what it’s like to live where I do — both in Ohio, a state of which I am not a native, and in rural America, which I did not grow up in — so there’s probably not a reason to go over that again. What I do find interesting, though, is the fact I’ve lived somewhere for ten years straight. Prior to the move to Ohio, I changed addresses every couple of years on average, and as a child, often rather more frequently than that. If I added them all up I think there may have close to 20 moves in my first 31 years of life. To be rooted in one place for what is now a quarter of my life counts as some sort of achievement. And of course, it’s been a pretty good ten years.
As one does, I sometimes wonder how my life would be different if we hadn’t moved to this house — would I have written Old Man’s War, for example, which I wrote that first summer I lived here? Would I write fiction at all? Would I eventually come to know many of the same people I know now? And so on. It’s interesting to speculate on because in point of fact I am happy with my life at is, and the life I and my family have made, here in this one house, all this time. It’s been good to us, and I’m glad I’m here.
I really thought I’d have more to say about this, but I don’t. Just: Dude. Ten years in Ohio. Whoa.
There you go. Thought it might start your day off well.