Over the past 10 years, I’ve often thought about leaving Nevada and seeing what it’s like to live in a more or less normal state. Don’t get me wrong: there’s a lot of entertainment value in getting text message alerts every time bears come down from the mountains and go dumpster-diving in people’s backyards; ditto for weekly meth lab busts and crazy tourists who either drive 20 miles below the speed limit or try to live out their Fast&Furious fantasies fueled by midlife crises. And then, of course, there’s the Las Vegas Metro, who always try to match LAPD in wanton cruelty and overall stupidity.

Granted, all of the above makes for some great entertainment (especially when viewed from afar, preferably from behind a barricade), but after a while the entertainment value of these shenanigans tends to decrease. Sure, there were some good times as well, but overall I’d probably have to call it a tie.

I’m writing this on the eve of my departure for Texas. It’s a bit funny that my escape from Nevada came from such an unlikely source: a temp job in a warehouse that I took during the mean, lean winter of 2009, when my company was the only one hiring in Northern Nevada. Two years down the road, I transferred to our Las Vegas branch. Then I got promoted and honed my skills to the point where I got picked to be the data analyst at the company’s brand new facility in Fort Worth. Looking back, I find it hard to believe that all of this came from my decision to stand in that long line at the temp agency. That was one weird gamble, but sometimes weird gambles pay off – especially in Nevada.

I suppose I should write about how much I’ll miss Nevada and shed a solitary, manly tear for the state I’ve called home all these years. I don’t really feel like it, though. The departure evokes neither good nor bad feelings. I look forward to meeting Texans and living in a completely different state, but that’s about it. I suppose that’s what Kurt Vonnegut meant when he said “it’s impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn’t interest me.”

Goodbye, Silver State. Hello, Lone Star.