In just a few weeks, I’ll be leaving the blistering hellscape of St. George behind for the snow-covered, frostbitten peaks of Ogden, Utah. That’s right, I'm willingly abandoning 115-degree afternoons and baking concrete streets for snow boots and frozen sidewalks. Am I crazy? Probably. But after years of sweating through my clothes and cooking under the sun like a human rotisserie, I’ll take my chances with frostbite. At least you can layer up.
Finding a place to live in Ogden was surprisingly… easy. It's cheaper than I expected, too. Compared to St. George, Ogden feels like a real bargain. I walked into this housing search with full-on paranoia, expecting the typical financial gut punch, only to find myself mildly shocked—there’s more out here for less. Fewer over-priced boxes and more cozy corners. Who knew?
But that’s not the real reason I’m moving. I’ve been living in a weird limbo, stuck in a place where my body’s sweating and my soul’s dry. I need a change, a shot at something new—new faces, new scenes, new reasons to wake up. Plus, I’m excited about the things that St. George just doesn’t offer. Bars that aren’t church-adjacent. Local food joints with grease you can trust. History that doesn’t feel sanitized for tourists. And a community that doesn’t feel so damn disconnected. I need grit, character, and snow. Yeah, snow. I’m gonna regret saying that once I’m shoveling it off my windshield at 7 a.m., but for now, it sounds romantic.
That’s the dream, right? Jump into the unknown, wrap yourself in it, and hope it doesn’t suffocate you. And Ogden’s my jump — like a dive into ice water after the slow suffocation of desert heat. This town has a history, some grit, and the kind of views I’ve only seen on the backs of postcards. I’m all in. I’ll either learn to love the cold or go mad trying.
Now, there’s a part of this move that I can’t dodge. Full transparency — there’s a girl. Isn’t there always? We dated for a year and a half back in St. George. Lived together for a year. Things started well and ended not too badly, and now I’m here, dragging the emotional baggage along for the ride. She grew up in Ogden, and she’s here now.
So, the question everyone loves to ask is: Am I following her? No. Let’s get that clear right now. This isn’t some grand romantic gesture where I pine away in the shadows, hoping for a second chance. I’ve got more dignity than that—or maybe less. The point is, I’m not here for her. The Standard-Examiner gave me an opportunity, a megaphone to shout my ever-so-wonderful opinions into the void, and that’s what I’m here for.
I won’t lie and say it won’t mess with me. I’m still in love with her. That whole "I'm over it" bit is a lie I tell myself so I can sleep at night. I’m not. And the idea of being in the same city, knowing she’s somewhere out there, living her life while I’m figuring out mine—that’s a kick in the teeth I’m not quite prepared for. We didn’t break up because we hated each other. Life just didn’t line up for her in St. George. Opportunities weren’t there; misery set in, and then it all collapsed under its weight.
So, what now? I move to her city and hope to God the universe doesn’t play some cruel trick where I run into her at every corner store or crosswalk. Let’s be clear: I’m here to build something new. I’m here for me, for this chance to plant roots in a town that doesn’t feel so hollow, that has a pulse, a heartbeat, a story. Not for her.
That said, would I want to see her again? Of course. But Ogden’s not about her. It’s about the space I need to grow — whether that’s with her ghost hanging in the background or not. Maybe this city has enough going on to drown out that noise.
In the meantime, I’ll be diving headfirst into the unknown, starting with local bars where nobody knows my name. I’m eager to fill the void with food that doesn’t come with a side of corporate America, drinks that don’t taste like watered-down boredom, and stories from the people who’ve been here long enough to know the real Ogden. Maybe I’ll even figure out what it means to be part of a community—one that isn’t drenched in a sea of heatwaves and politics.
Yes, I’ll be cold. I’ll probably curse the snow, the ice, and the fact that I can’t feel my face. But as long as I’m somewhere new, somewhere that feels alive—I think it’ll be worth it.
The thing is, I’m not just moving to Ogden. I’m running toward something. A chance to get away from the mundane, the sweat, the failures of the past, and maybe even the lingering echoes of heartbreak. Whether Ogden saves me, freezes me, or throws me off a nearby mountaintop, I’m ready to find out.