Let me go ahead and clear something up before the story gets twisted at family dinners and Facebook comments…
I didn’t end up in Texas.
I chose Texas.
Loud. Proud. Possibly a little dramatic about it.
And if you ask me why, I’ll give you a different answer every time depending on how much coffee—or whiskey—I’ve had. But since we’re here, I’ll give you the real version of it… the one with confetti, bad decisions, and a little bit of truth marching behind it like it owns the street.
It started, like most questionable life choices do, with a woman.
Now listen… she wasn’t just a woman. She was the kind of woman that made you reconsider your entire personality. I’m talking about the kind that walks into a room and suddenly you sit up straighter, talk a little slower, and pretend you’ve always known how to two-step.
She had that Texas in her bones. Not the tourist version. Not the “I bought boots once” version. I mean the real thing—sunset in her skin, stubborn in her spine, and a look that said, you can come with me… but you better keep up.
So naturally, I did what any reasonable man would do.
I followed her.
Now, at the time, I told everybody it was for opportunity.
“Texas is booming,” I said.
“Real estate’s hot,” I said.
“Big sky, big money, big steaks,” I said.
What I didn’t say was…
I was chasing a woman who made me forget what state I even lived in.
Details.
First week in Texas, I learned three things real quick:
- Everything is bigger, including your mistakes.
- People will absolutely judge you based on your steak temperature and your brisket opinion.
- If you’re gonna choose Texas, you better commit—because Texas doesn’t do halfway.
I traded in my regular life like it was an old truck with too many miles on it. New routines. New people. New version of me that suddenly knew what “yes ma’am” meant and said it like I was born doing it.
And somewhere between the long drives, the loud laughter, and the kind of nights that feel like they’ll never end…
I started believing my own story.
That I didn’t follow her.
I chose this.
Now here’s where it gets funny.
Because somewhere between choosing Texas…
and choosing her…
I realized something nobody likes to admit out loud:
How you get them… is how you lose them.
Yeah. That part.
See, I showed up bold. I showed up chasing. I showed up ready to rearrange my life like furniture to make room for her.
And guess what?
That same energy doesn’t just disappear. It cycles.
Because if she could be chased… she could be chased again.
If she could be won over… she could be won away.
If she could make me leave everything behind…
What made me think she wouldn’t expect me to keep choosing her the same way?
Every. Single. Day.
Texas started teaching me lessons she didn’t have to say out loud.
Texas is funny like that.
It doesn’t sit you down for a heart-to-heart. It just lets life unfold until you either figure it out… or get humbled trying.
You don’t just choose Texas once.
You choose it when it’s 105 degrees and your patience is melting.
You choose it when the roads are long and the nights are quiet.
You choose it when things don’t go your way and there’s nobody to blame but yourself.
And the same goes for her.
So now when people ask me why I chose Texas, I still give them the highlight reel.
“Freedom.”
“Opportunity.”
“Better way of life.”
But if you catch me on an honest day…
I’ll tell you this:
I chose Texas because it forced me to become the kind of man who keeps choosing.
Not just land.
Not just lifestyle.
Not just some story I tell to sound good.
But the hard things.
The real things.
The things that don’t clap for you when you get them right.
And her?
Well…
Let’s just say Texas taught me that loving something isn’t about the moment you arrive.
It’s about whether you’re still standing there when the dust settles, the music fades, and there’s no parade left to hide behind.
So yeah.
I chose Texas.
And every morning I wake up here… I choose it again.
Because the truth is…
The first choice is easy.
It’s the staying that proves who you really are.
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