If Memorial Day is the beginning of summer and Labor Day is the end of it, then the 4th of July is the point at which I start thinking about autumn. I daydream about hot lattes in warm mugs, about new jeans and smart, structured jackets and that crisp smell of a cool morning.

I didn't know I didn't like summer until a few years ago--probably when we moved back to the Southeast from Minnesota. Growing up in Virginia, I understood and even felt the magic of summer every year--the muggy mornings, cicadas chirping away in the distance, fireflies flickering in the early evening. My brother and I used to set off into the streets of our suburban neighborhood for giant games of flashlight tag with our summer friends--the kids who we didn't go to school with but were inseparable from every summer vacation. No school, no worries, just pools and sprinklers and popsicles all day. I get it.

But this weekend Rob was home and we did something we don't usually do--we went clothes shopping. He and I will occasionally buy ourselves a new shirt or pair of shoes here and there, but it was a holiday weekend and there were sales and we're moving to California, so we basically bought ourselves a new wardrobe for the Bay Area. 

I've been feeling so up and down about the prospect of moving across the country, but this weekend made me feel even more hopeful than I have before. Maybe it was sweating through upper 90-degree afternoons, or maybe it was coming to the realization that I'm going to need more jeans and a new jacket for fall in California. A lot of it was just being reunited with Rob for a long weekend. But I think most of it is that part of me that always comes around this time of year--the one who doesn't want to wish the summer away, but can't seem to help it.

I am learning, a little bit more every day, to just be. That it's okay to be excited for the future, and sometimes it's okay to dread it a little bit too. Summer is here. There are friends to laugh with and rosé to drink. The mosquitos will bite. But fireflies will flicker; and big, fat, pink peonies will gloriously open up in the vase you place by the kitchen sink. 

And autumn will come around eventually.

My friend Paige came over for dinner and The Bachelorette the other night and I wanted to make something delicious but low-key and easy to make ahead. I make a thing I call "salsa chicken," but haven't posted the recipe here because it's a little simple: you literally just throw chicken and salsa in a crock-pot and cook it for 8 hours. Add a few toppings and some corn tortillas (or lettuce leaves if you're keeping in Paleo) and voila! Crock-pot chicken tacos.

Ingredients:

• About 2 pounds of chicken thighs or breasts
• 1 medium white onion, sliced thinly
• Half a jar of salsa
• Juice of 1 lime
• 3-4 tablespoons Mexican or taco seasoning
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Corn tortillas or lettuce leaves
• Toppings: avocado, red onion, cilantro, lime wedges, lettuce, salsa, shredded cheese

Instructions:

1. Put sliced onion and chicken in the crock-pot. Season the chicken with salt, pepper, and taco seasoning, then pour half a jar of your favorite salsa on top. Cook on low for about 8 hours--after 5 or 6 hours, remove the chicken, shred with two forks, put it back in, and give the whole thing a stir.
2. Set up your taco bar by placing all toppings in separate ramekins, or just make little piles of them on a cutting board (or some combination of the two). Assemble tacos and enjoy.

We signed the first two-year lease of our lives and later that exact same day, someone emailed Rob about a dream job in California that he had applied for in November. The timing felt like a slap in the face, and I resented myself for dreading what I knew would end up turning into a job offer. We had planned to stay in Charlotte, probably for good, and settle down, continue to nurture the wonderful friendships we've made here, have kids, stay close to our families, easily make weekend trips to Virginia or South Carolina.

But the opportunity was great, and after a few calls, an offer was made. Rob and I talked about nothing else for days, and finally we decided that it wasn't something we could pass up. My heart felt broken--one half was overflowing with pride for my husband and his work, and the other half was, honestly, straight up devastated. I thought about the new friends, coffee shops, hair salons, and doctors I'd have to find again. When we moved to Charlotte I thought okay, this is it. And I put down roots for the first time in a long time.

When we left for Minnesota, I was ready for something new. I looked at it as an adventure, and I was excited to make the move. This time, it felt less exciting, but over time Charlotte became our home--I have friends here and a coffee shop where the baristas recognize me. We're regulars at several restaurants and on Friday nights the manager shakes Rob's hand as we walk back to our table on the patio. I teach SkillPop classes every month and when I miss my mom one of us drives only three hours to see the other.

But Rob and I are 26 and 27, respectively. We don't have kids yet, and in so many ways we are still so young. Now is the time. I still feel overwhelmed about it, but after a few weeks I realized that, as usual, my reservations were rooted in fear. At the age of only 27, I had lost my sense of adventure and replaced it with a need for consistency, even if it got in the way of dreams coming true.

So for now, until September, Rob is doing a lot of traveling back and forth between North Carolina and California. And then, probably right around the time summer is winding down, we'll pack up and head west.

I wrote most of this post in April, when we had just made the decision. Since then I've found myself feeling more and more enthusiastic about starting a new adventure. 

"I just want to be normal," I told my friend Daci a couple of months ago, as I tried to figure out if I was excited or scared. I didn't want to keep moving every year or two. I didn't want to constantly have to make new friends and miss my old ones. I wanted to be able to hop in the car and see my brother. And yet, I want more for us. I want Rob to be happy at work. I want us to both be able to chase our dreams and create exactly the kind of life we've always imagined, because it's out there for the taking.

"You have plenty of time to be normal," Daci said.

I think she's right. California, here we come.