t was last summer in New York City when I began fantasizing about Austin. New York was sticky and smelled of rotting garbage. If it was 95 in New York, it must have been 105 in Texas, but that didn't keep me from spinning vast lyric poems about what it would be like to go home. I would bath in Barton Springs. Bike rather than drive. Drink water, not beer. Drink margaritas, not water. I would throw a million parties - a croquet party, a bocce ball party, a Scrabble party, a "buffalo meat vs. ostrich" party, a "crazy hats" party - because everyone in Austin was so damn game. I had been traveling the country, looking for a place to lay my hat, but it was Austin I missed. Austin that made sense.

That week, I told my mother I was returning to Austin. "You know," she said, "you can always come back to Dallas."
I tried to let her down easy. "Yeah, I don't think so."
She put my brother on the phone. "You know," he said, "mom really wants you to come back to Dallas."
"Let me tell you something, and then you and I will never speak of it again." I like talking to my brother like this. "I am never moving back to Dallas."
"I said that once too," said my brother, laughing.
"No, you don't hear me. I'm never moving to Dallas. Never ever ever ever ever."
"It might be nice to be close to your family. You never know."
"No I do know. And I know I'm never moving to Dallas!"
"Ever?"
"Ever ever!"

I am, of course, moving to Dallas.

The reasons are complicated, and simple. Mostly, they involve one person, an unexpected but very welcome relationship. I can say this move makes sense financially or career-wise or health-wise - and maybe some of that is true - but mostly, it's just two people trying to figure out what they're like without 180 miles of asphalt between them. So Dallas, for now. Another move is coming in the fall, but let's deal with one at a time.

So now I'm leaving Austin. Again. I think the only thing that makes it bearable is that I've done it so often. I've driven the streets waving goodbye to taco stands and touched trees with drama, thinking, "I'll never see this again!" And always I'm back - four months or six months later, back at the taco stand, reading beneath the tree, comfortable riding the raggedy streets, feeling home again. Of course, during my six-month stint in Austin, I never did swim in Barton Springs (it was shut down). I never did throw that croquet party. I still don't know whether ostrich or buffalo taste better. And the "crazy hats" party? I think you see where I'm going with this. I've been 10 years in this place, and there's still so many things I want to do here.

I guess that means I have more reasons to visit.

Tomorrow: What I'll miss.