Over 20 Years in Maine: A Journey from Temporary Stop to Permanent Home

When I relocated from Boston to Portland, Maine, in 2003 alongside my boyfriend Craig, it was intended as a temporary detour, not a place to settle.

I had long harbored ambitions of moving to Hollywood to establish a career in the film industry, backing this dream with an MA in television and video production from Emerson College. During our initial date, Craig shared his aspiration to become a comedy writer. That set our plan in motion to migrate to Southern California, though we needed time to accumulate savings first.

Roots in New England

Craig originally hailed from Maine, with his family still residing there. My own upbringing was in a town north of Boston. Our ancestral roots were entwined in New England—Craig’s lineage from Denmark and Ireland and mine from Sicily—entrenched for at least three generations. I always envisioned an end to this tradition, dreaming of raising my children elsewhere, away from the cold climate that defined my own childhood.

In August 2003, we transitioned from my small Massachusetts apartment to Craig’s parents’ home in Portland after selling most of our belongings. My urge to leave intensified upon realizing Craig hadn’t shared our plans with his parents.

An Unexpected Detour

Both of us secured employment and began saving money. I vowed to avoid becoming emotionally tied to our temporary situation. Yet, Craig’s mother generously assumed the role of a surrogate mother and a dear friend, making it difficult to remain detached. Nonetheless, I spent my evenings looking up potential apartments online and stashing my daycare earnings.

A Life-Changing Surprise

Around eight months after moving to Maine, I sensed something was amiss. Missing my period and feeling overwhelmingly tired confirmed what I suspected: I was pregnant.

We contemplated relocating to Los Angeles with a newborn and realized that managing without a nearby support system was unfeasible. Hence, we concluded that staying in Maine was the wiser choice.

We purchased a modest home, expanded our family with three more children, and eventually upgraded to our dream residence in Scarborough, a picturesque suburb with excellent schools and several beaches. Yet, thoughts of the West Coast lingered, beckoning during challenging times when bearing the burdens of leaky roofs and frigid weather.

Ambivalent Resolutions

Despite appreciating what Maine had to offer, I disliked the harsh winters and costly living expenses: heating, escalating electricity bills, snow removal, and storm aftermath. The pandemic shook our routines, prompting us to reconsider moving. Relocating to Los Angeles seemed too drastic, so we turned our attention southward.

Planning to escape the chaos of cold-weather responsibilities, we explored options in Georgia and South Carolina, even listing our cherished home for sale. Nevertheless, as daily life in Maine unfolded, my desire to leave waned.

Returning to school enabled me to secure a rewarding teaching position as a special educator, while my children and I developed friendships. Anticipating departure illuminated an unexpected truth—I had forged an identity deeply rooted here, rendering Maine distinctly my home.

Maine houses our history: where my children were born and grew academically. The seasonal cold transcends inconvenience, tempered by the joy of watching my son play hockey or breaking a sweat shoveling snow.

The narrative of settling into my destined home illustrates a journey unforeseen—reflecting John Lennon's notion that life occurs amidst other plans. Thus, discovering one’s true 'home' unfolds likewise.