A vintage Knoll club chair awaits my other posessions for the trip from Houston to Dallas.

I moved from Houston, where I grew up, to New York in August of 1983, ostensibly to attend Parsons School of Design, but really to become the person I was meant to be – creative, sophisticated, artistic, chic and ultimately open and honest about who I was in all areas of my life. New York did the trick – it was everything I had hoped for and so much more.

In June of 1995, I moved to London to get away from both a contretemps at the ad agency I worked for and my best friend’s gruesome lingering death from AIDS. London was a great distraction. It was all familiar, but all a little different. A New York with more age and more green space, London in the mid 90s was THE center of design, theatre, pop music and culture in the world. It was so much fun to be a part of it all for a few years.
In June of 1997, I returned to New York – the ad agency having closed the London office. I settled in for an increasingly unhappy few years. Nothing was doing the trick anymore. Not the job, not relationships (such as they were), not even the things I loved – art, theatre, fashion. I resorted to what had worked for me in the distant past to change the way I felt. It worked until it didn’t.

In the last days of 2001, my father scraped me up off the floor of my apartment near Madison Square Park and took me back with him to Houston. I did recover from what ailed me [and continue to] but I was horrified to be back where I started. The place I had run from. Feeling I had little choice, I made the best of it. I opened an ad agency in Houston with a terrific business partner and made a good life. I had close friends. Dated. Traveled. Bought and sold beautiful homes. Made my peace with not being in New York and returned 3 or 4 times a year.

The agency was great for 11 out of the 13 years we were open. The last year was not one of them. We closed the doors in March of this year. I sold my apartment in February, and a few months later, moved into the garage apartment of a friend’s home in Broadacres, a leafy inner loop neighborhood in Houston. I began to look for employment and talk to everyone who would speak to me. It was a terrific experience. The universe met me more than halfway by bringing me a lot of lovely, smart, creative, and to a fault, generous, people. What I didn’t find was a job in Marketing or Advertising. Free of the agency and real estate [and, sadly, my lovely 17-year old American Eskimo dog Holly, who had passed away at the end of 2016], the universe seemed to be telling me that I could be free of my career as well, something I hadn’t really considered.

As I continued to look for a job in my “chosen” field, I began to consider what I might really choose. I’ve collected architect and artist designed objects, fashion collaborations, art and photography, and books on all of it for decades. It’s what I love. I love the stories behind the objects and artworks – the designers and artists, the makers and marketers, and how these works fit into the whole of their output and the world. Inspired by an article about a gentleman who sells design objects from his home in Brooklyn, I started to talk to people about creating such an endeavor myself. The response was overwhelmingly positive – a chorus of “it’s very you.”

At the end of this week, I’m moving to Dallas to pursue my new business there, perhaps along with an advertising or creative gig – I’m open to whatever the universe brings. A full 34 years after I first left “home,” I’m leaving again to strive to be even more of the person I am, without apology or obligation. There is a pretty good chunk of risk involved, but I have a lot of love and support including that of a lifelong friend, a sister really. And at this stage, “success” is whatever comes next, as long as I let the universe move me.