It appears that the great adventure is upon us again.

We had planned to settle down here in Northern Virginia. To plant roots. To stay put, more or less, for the rest of our days.

But God, it seems, had other plans.

Events have unfolded at a furious pace. First, my job security evaporated, right at about the same time I realized, in a panic, that I had more or less plateaued in my industry (barring some unforseen willingness to kiss up and pretend I wanted the life of a PR executive). We were paying our bills, but only just, and as the economy ground to a halt, our depreciating dollars were spread too thin, or, in the incomparable words of Bilbo Baggins, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.” Our house, always cozy, was gradually closing in as we welcomed child number four into the world, and we ran out of corners in which to keep our stuff. We looked for opportunities to buy a small farm, or start a business, or do something to clear a path to the future, but nothing came into view, and times grew more tense.

And then, while my wife was in Arizona attending to some family matters, the seed of an idea began to sprout.

“We may need to consider moving back to help out dad,” she informed me one evening over the phone. “He’s doing too much, and he’s getting too old to do it.”

Characteristically, I resisted. We had both sworn off Arizona forever, after our last attempt at living there had gone to hell. Neither of us liked it there – she having grown up there, and I having lived there on two separate occasions for various reasons – and we were perfectly content back East.

But I did some backroom dealing with the Good Lord, and I told him if it was what He wanted, and what needed to be done, I’d go there no questions asked. Jamie and the kids came home, and I thought no more about it.

But it was only a matter of days before we got the news that her brother had died at the too-young age of 45.

Now, God works in mysterious ways, and I may be the sort who tends to question them (despite what I said before about not doing that) but in the end I always acquiesce. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but it set in motion a chain of events that has led us to where we are today: packing the house, selling our furniture, and preparing to move in only about two weeks’ time to Tucson, Arizona. More than any other decision in our lives, it seems like a grossly incongruous thing to do. And unlike most other things in our lives, it’s resoundingly clear that this is precisely what we should do.

Fans of Robert Jordan may at times in their lives identify with the phrase, “Death is lighter than a feather; duty heavier than a mountain.” All week, I’ve been repeating that bit of wisdom to myself from the novels I read in my youth.

But while there’s an undeniable reluctance to go, sell all we own, and follow the Oregon Trail (with a slight left turn at Alburquerque), there’s also an oasis in the damned desert: a chance for us to start a business of our own, a make-or-break opportunity to grab the future by the reins and shoot for a better life, even if it isn’t necessarily in a better place. And some day, with a bit of luck and some success, we hope beyond hope that we can come back to the lush, green, civilized places of the world. We’re East Coast people, and this will always be our home.

I don’t know much about what I intend to do with this blog. It’s more of a journal than the sort of commentary I have habitually provided readers over the years. I’ll use it to post photos, to offer updates to the friends and family we leave behind, and to generally tell the story of this latest, unexpected chapter in the great choose-your-own-adventure novel we call “life”.

Stay tuned.