Leaving the Robin Behind

I came to Arizona by coincidence. For a very long time, I didn't even know there was a city called Phoenix in the US. I only learned about it when life unexpectedly steered me there after I finished my master's in Atlanta. I didn't know about the hot summers, the dry heat, or the desert. Like most Mumbaikars, I love the rain. So my first question was—does it rain there a lot like in Atlanta? Then someone gave me an example: "In Seattle, people look outside their windows when it stops raining. In Phoenix, they look outside when it rains." I was probably too naive to understand it, so clearly the joke was on me.

At the time, I was a technology management consultant, traveling four days a week. It is extremely rare for a consulting professional to keep their base in Phoenix, especially at the start of their career. Consulting used to sound glamorous back then, and that glamour warranted a base like NYC, Chicago, or Washington, D.C. But I had no such thoughts—I moved to AZ with a blank slate, with a lot of energy, and no plan whatsoever about anything.

No plan, no real goal, and so I ended up spending almost eight years there—moved apartments, bought my first house, met a lot of amazing people, built lifelong relationships, made a ton of mistakes, traveled a lot, laughed, cried, hoped, despaired... In fact, there was a point I thought I would never leave Phoenix. I fell in love with that dry heat, the South Mountains, the Grand Canyon, the once-a-year monsoon rains, and the crisp winter air.

But then another unexpected twist moved me out of AZ. It's been a while since I left Arizona, but it still feels like home.

It was the home where I used to come back after a long flight on Thursday night. The home that used to melt away all my tiredness the moment I entered. It gave me a sudden burst of energy. Fridays there used to be so relaxing, especially the afternoons! I have traveled a lot, but the kind of serenity one can find during the AZ afternoons, I have never found anywhere else—it's a long, peaceful afternoon. The only thing you hear is a robin's carols. It's kinda hypnotizing. One of the most beautiful sounds.

Yesterday, I parted ways with the last connection I had with AZ. Now that I am in my 40s, the only thing I am convinced about is that "Life happens to us" rather than "we are in control". So I don't know if another coincidence will emerge that will take me back to those afternoon robin concerts. For now, I have left him behind.