I’m originally from the East coast. Before I get judged as another annoying transplant, let me explain why I moved: heartbreak, failure, and murder.

Let’s start with heartbreak. I was living in Boston and I had an awesome boyfriend. We had so much fun together, playing our guitars, (well, actually he was a little too obsessed with Metallica), going on hikes, (well, actually it was hard to get him off the couch), or watching TV (I hated the reality shows he lik

I’m originally from the East coast. Before I get judged as another annoying transplant, let me explain why I moved: heartbreak, failure, and murder.

Let’s start with heartbreak. I was living in Boston and I had an awesome boyfriend. We had so much fun together, playing our guitars, (well, actually he was a little too obsessed with Metallica), going on hikes, (in reality, it was hard to get him off the couch), or watching TV (I hated the reality shows he liked).

Despite our many mismatches, I was crazy about him This could be because he was a beautiful Brazilian man, but I thought it was love at the time. We talked about starting a farm together outside of Rio, raising animals and bilingual babies. We were inseparable for months, then in the spring time, he started flaking out on plans and acting distant.

His detachment for me became very apparent one night when he refused to take his shoes off during sex. He had his feet on the ground, ready to leave.

After it was over, I asked “do you even want to be with me anymore?”

He didn’t answer, he just looked at me with sad eyes.

I started sobbing and I ran out, down the street, all the way to my car, holding my bra and my shoes.

Heartbreak made work difficult. I was a middle school science teacher and was busy planning a huge science fair. I managed to pull it off by confining the majority of my crying to the teacher’s bathroom.

In mid-April, I was called into the principal’s office. I was expecting to get my contract for the following year. Instead, the principal said, “it seems that you have not been happy at this school, so we are not going to give you a contract at this time.” I hadn’t realized that anyone had noticed I was depressed. I also hadn’t realized that you could be let go for “not being happy enough.”

“What happened?” the kind social studies teacher asked as he noticed my tear-streaked face in the hallway.

“I didn’t get a contract for next year. The principal said that I am not happy enough.”

“That’s bullshit.” I cried a bit harder. “I’m so sorry Lauren. You only have one more class today, correct?”

I sniffled and nodded.

“Let me cover it. You go home and take it easy.”

“Thank you!” I turned and hustled towards the door.

“It’s going to be okay, Lauren!”

I hopped on my bicycle and pedaled fast towards Cambridge. I needed sympathy and I knew my best friend Jill would be home. Her work, unlike mine, gave her Patriots’ Day off.

The Boston Marathon was happening, so I had to bike downtown to get to a crossing. I was crying so hard it was difficult to bike around all the crowds cheering on the athletes.

Eventually, I made it to Jill’s house. I wailed the whole story of my failure to be happy at work.

Jill gave me a long hug. "Don't worry, honey! You're going to find something even better! Let's start by updating your resume together."

Soon after, I got a call from my brother Brian. He was at the marathon, cheering on his friend. He said, “Laurie, I just want to let you know I’m okay, we are all running to Chinatown.”

There was shouting and screaming in the background. I felt too confused to be scared.

“What happened, Brian?”

But the line got cut off. I had no idea what he was running from. With shaking fingers, I typed “Boston Marathon” into Google and sorted the search by “recent.”

What came up were the images that people were taking with their phones. There was blood everywhere and what looked like body parts.

“What is it?” Jill asked.

“Don’t look at the computer!” I shrieked and slammed the laptop shut.

I tried to call Brian back. It went to voicemail. We turned on the news. There had been a bombing at the marathon. They did not know how many people were injured or if there were more bombs.

I paced Jill's living room like a caged lion, muscles tensed against an unknown enemy. I wanted to gather all my loved ones in one place, to hug them to safety. The tragedy defined my tribe. I realized the people I couldn’t live without. I was concerned about my ex too, but he was an afterthought.

I was lucky. All my tribe was ok. My ex was ok. But other people's loved ones died. Other people's loved ones lost their limbs. What did I lose?

Four days later Boston was shut down for the manhunt. Police drove by and announced that everyone must remain inside. Helicopters were flying overhead. It felt like the apocalypse.

Stuck inside my apartment with the shades down and the deadbolt on the door, I emailed my resume for jobs all over the country. Even before all the terror had happened, I had been a heartbroken failure. The chaos of the bombing was the tipping point: I wanted to get as far away from Boston as possible.

And that is how I got here. I am on this coast because I ran away.