Ten years after returning home to the Bay Area, my husband’s company announced a relocation to the East Coast.
I urged Shane to find another job. I begged not to leave my hometown again. After moving to Spokane, Chicago and Ann Arbor for various professional and educational paths following the dot com bomb, it had taken us six years to make our way back to the Bay Area in 2007. I appreciated how special my native state of California was after all of those other transfers. I used every tactic I could think of (learned the hard way after 19 years together) to prevent yet another relocation across the country.
Who knew what untold trauma this disruption would cause our 9 year-old son?
What about my mom who only recently recovered from breast cancer, and who was also still mourning the death of my dad? We met for lunch at least 4 times a week; how could we leave her?
What about my beloved extended family, all my friends (many from childhood) and my favorite trail around the reservoir?
Our lives were incredibly comfortable, easy and KNOWABLE. Yes the traffic sucks in the Bay Area. Housing prices are out of control. But we tended to avoid the gridlock altogether by staying in our jammies, cosy and snug in our house. “Can’t we just stay the same?”
As soon as I asked the question, I knew the answer wasn’t supposed to be ‘Yes.’ Life isn’t about being comfortable. Easy. Knowable. I’ve seen ‘Dead Poet’s Society.’ Eleanor Roosevelt is my hero. So is Hillary Clinton. These ladies never took the easiest paths. How could I?
Instead of fighting the move, I decided to fucking embrace it. Full steam ahead, I ran into the wind, embarked on a savage house-hunt and together, Shane and I climbed mountains to move in a matter of weeks, not the anticipated months. If I was going to disrupt my life, it would be on my terms.
This is a diary of me trying to find my place, my tribe, and my sense of self when the easiest thing to do was stay home.