I guess it’s official. I have a new identity as a Missouri resident! Well, maybe not a new identity, but certainly, it feels like it. An air of pride always surrounded the fact that I was a Colorado resident. I remember the day I moved back to Colorado with my 4-month-old son on my hip. I felt special holding my Colorado ID. Can’t say that I’ll be waiving my Missouri ID around and be proud of my MO plates – at least right away. I’d rather keep my hip-Colorado status. This is all another part of leaving one place and arriving in other (change in general) that I didn’t anticipate would have a bit of an emotional impact on me.

Surprisingly, moving from one state to another isn’t as smooth and easy as one would expect. Rather, you have prove you exist all over again. I felt like a non-person the last several weeks, not quite fitting in anywhere.

The last 3 and-a-half weeks I’ve spent countless hours on the phone, in waiting lines, and offices trying to establish myself as a legal person living where I say I’m living. It occurred to me (while sitting in a DMV office watching Heartland on Netflix) that if you wanted to go into hiding and create a new identity, this would be the time to do it. Obviously, it’s more difficult than it looks as I watched, one-by-one, each person in front of me rejected by the nice ladies at the counter. Every one of them for the same reason – they failed to bring what they needed to prove they existed.

Bummer for them. Good for me. E53 was quickly approaching. Nice. We might make it in under an hour.

I’ve learned my lesson well from sitting on plastic government-issued DMV chairs for far too long over the years to know that I never go in without first searching as many websites as possible to find everything that might be asked of me.

It’s like a scavenger hunt. They are never completely clear about what you need. In fact, if I hadn’t looked on the website one last time this morning and noticed an off-hand comment in the middle of a paragraph, I would have joined the ranks of dejected folks who gave up an entire day to sit in a dingy office and have nothing to show for it.

“What’s your height? Weight? Eye color?”, The lady at the counter fired off these questions. I paused and wondered if I wanted to fess up to some of the answers. As I considered giving slightly adjusted numbers, I blurted out the honest-to-God, cringe-worthy answers. Couldn’t she just take the numbers off the old license? I like them better.

Then I was asked to shuffle over to the white screen and look into the camera. The whole time I’m wondering if I should smile big, look serious, just have a little curl to my mouth, are my shoulders straight enough, is my hair wild…poof! The light went off and I knew that I had just taken the worst license photo and it would be mine for the next six years.

She handed me a temporary copy of my license and with dread and insatiable curiosity at the same time, I glanced at the photo and my first thought was, “I look like a Webble-wobble.”

Somehow there is no definition between my jawline and my neck.

Perhaps this is more motivation to go all out and create a new look with my new identity? I still dream about my days at 105 lbs. I wonder if that’s even possible anymore.

I ponder this as I gnaw on a king-sized PayDay candy bar. It’s supposed to be my husband’s but he waited too long.

Snooze, you lose.


There's a bit of change in my blog. For business posts, visit MicrobusinessMentor.com. This site will focus on personal posts such as my life as an entrepreneur, adjusting to Missouri life and whatever else fits my fancy! Thanks for the follow. ❤️