It was February 1999, and I had just returned to Hingham, Massachusetts, from Phoenix, where my uncle Matt—my namesake—had gotten married. The sun-drenched desert felt like another world. While I had spent the past few days basking in 80-degree temperatures, Massachusetts had other plans. A late-season snowstorm loomed, and I was back to the grind of my life—one that felt increasingly like a dead end.
At 23 years old, I was working as a mutual fund accountant for First Data Investor Services Group. When I started, the office had been in downtown Boston, which meant I could work all day and then step straight into the nightlife at Faneuil Hall. My commute was an easy boat ride from Hingham to the city, a daily routine that felt, at times, like something out of a movie.
Then everything changed. First Data moved from Boston to Westborough, deep in the middle of Massachusetts, and my life was flipped upside down. The commute was no longer a scenic ferry ride—it was a brutal hour-and-a-half slog through traffic each way. My social life evaporated. The city nights that had once been filled with possibility were replaced by exhaustion. I knew I wasn’t going to get ahead unless I went back to school and finished my degree, but for now, I felt stuck, trapped between the life I had and the one I wanted.
On February 26, 1999, the snowstorm hit. That morning, I had no choice but to make the drive to Westborough because I was getting a $5,000 bonus for transferring to the new location. What I didn’t realize was that this wasn’t just any snowstorm—it was a blizzard.
By the time I left the office with my bonus check in hand, the snow had become relentless. Route 128 was a parking lot, a sea of cars swallowed by the storm. My green Jeep Cherokee could handle the snow just fine, but the traffic was another story. Frustration simmered. Then, through the static of the radio, Dave Matthews’ Dancing Nancies came on:
Twenty-three and so tired of life, Such a shame to throw it all away, The images grow darker still, Could I have been anyone other than me?
I looked up at the sky. Snowflakes swirled, thick and endless. On impulse, I slid open the sunroof. The cold air rushed in as I stuck out my tongue, catching the falling snow. Let it come down, I thought. Let it all come down. In that moment, it clicked—this wasn’t my life. At least, it wasn’t the one I was meant to live. What was the use of worrying? What was the use of hurrying? I was done feeling stuck. I was done waiting for life to happen to me. It was time to make a move.
As I sat in my Jeep, staring at the sea of red taillights stretching endlessly before me, time seemed to stand still. I was stuck in traffic for over three hours, watching as the snow piled up around me. The relentless snowfall created a whiteout, making it nearly impossible to see the car ahead. The sound of windshield wipers scraping against the windshield was the only break in the eerie silence. The cold seeped into the car, and I could feel the chill even through my thick coat. The air was thick with the scent of fresh snow, a clean yet overwhelming aroma that filled the senses. The weight of the snow on the roof of the car was palpable, pressing down and adding to the sense of entrapment. The occasional sound of a car horn or the crunch of tires moving slowly over the snow-covered road were the only indications of life in the otherwise still landscape.
By the time I finally made it home, the storm had intensified, and the world outside was unrecognizable under a thick blanket of snow. The experience left me physically and emotionally drained, and I knew I couldn’t continue living a life that left me feeling so trapped.
The next morning, there were over twenty inches of snow on the ground. Even though the plows had cleared the road, the commute was a nightmare. When I finally arrived at work, I walked into work and handed in my two weeks’ resignation. It was one of the toughest moments of my life. My manager, Colleen, and I were close, and I had a career path at First Data that many people questioned me leaving. It was especially bittersweet because I worked with my best friend, Mike Grafton. He and I had come up through the ranks together, pushing each other forward, and I wouldn’t be there to see it through.
Colleen sighed, shaking her head. “Are you sure about this, Matt?”
“You can’t shovel sunshine,” I grinned, hoping humor would mask the lump forming in my throat, pointing at the snow outside the window, downplaying the sadness of the moment. “I’m young. I need to experience something new. I don’t want to look back at this moment and regret not taking a chance.”
Mike gave me a half-smile. “You’re really doing it, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s time.”
He hesitated for a moment, then smirked. “You know, when we were in Arizona for your uncle’s wedding, I went down to Tucson and met this group of graduating seniors from University of Arizona who are moving up to Tempe in the spring. One of them, Jocelyn—I think you two would look good together. Just saying.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Guess we’ll see what happens.”
Walking away from that stability, from those relationships, wasn’t easy, but something inside me told me I had to go.
Two weeks later, I stood in my parents’ driveway, my Jeep packed for a cross-country trip to Arizona. A cargo container was strapped to the roof, and the trunk was crammed with suitcases, golf clubs, and everything else I could fit. My good friends, Mike “Money” Santiago and Joe Ziniti, were making the drive with me. My next stop was to pick up Joe, then Money, and then we were on our way westward.
I took one last look at the house, the snow had melted but piles remained, at everything I was leaving behind. I had no idea what Arizona had in store, but I knew I wasn’t turning back.
My mom hugged me tightly, pressing a small gift into my hand—rosary beads. She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a prayer for my safety. Then, she looked at me and smiled, though I could see the emotion behind it.
“You’re going to fall in love,” she said. “Don’t make me get on a plane to see my grandkids.”
I laughed, hugged my parents one last time, and hung the rosary beads on my rearview mirror. One last deep breath. One last glance at the life I was leaving. Then, I turned on my left blinker, pulled out of the driveway, gave one last beep of the horn, and headed west.
That blizzard wasn’t just a storm—it was the moment I finally decided to change my life.