Hitching a ride, trusting a partner, marrying the same person three times
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Rachel Yoder lives in Iowa City, Iowa. She recently graduated from the nonfiction-writing program at the University of Iowa and now writes about shoes for Nordstrom. Her piece “Some Really Disgusting Essays about Love” is forthcoming in YOU: An Anthology of Essays in the Second Person.
It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when my wanting became a problem. Sometimes I think it was at seventeen, when I was a Mennonite girl from a dead-end dirt lane, determined to leave for the Big City, for college, for a career and money and high-heeled shoes and shorn hair, and to have absolutely nothing more to do with the hilltop Mennonites.
The first time I read my dad’s diary, I was home for a weeklong midsummer visit. I had been wandering around my parents’ house, typically directionless, looking for something to do. My mom was at work, and my dad — who wasn’t at work, since he didn’t work — was out back sipping a Milwaukee’s Best and reading a book.