California or Bust

I just busted. What a mess.

Thinking back ten years ago, August 1996, I can see myself squeezing into a red Jeep Cherokee stuffed with clothes, pots and pans, and of course my Mom (for extra help). We drove Route 66 across the country, heading to Los Angeles. By the time we hit New Mexico there was smoke pouring from the hood of the car. Then the engine died.

“You blew a gasket head,” the mechanic said. “And this part of Albuquerque can be dangerous.”

Dangerous or not, I abandoned my Mom with the tow-truck driver and caught a flight to LAX. Law school orientation was in two days, and I was anxious to start my Three Year Plan: study hard at a university overlooking the Pacific Ocean, then (once I removed my cap and gown), head back to the Midwest. Back to the place I called home.

By fall break that first semester, my Three Year Plan had converted into an indefinite stay. Forget the fact that “fall break” was technically an emergency evacuation from the law school due to Malibu wildfires. The flames I saw on television – as in, the gigantic bright orange ones inches from my dorm room – hardly deterred me. I even thought California’s earthquakes were cute – the way the world dropped out from underneath my feet and then, in a split-second, jolted right back where it belonged. At most, I heard a mop crash to the kitchen floor or found a rug crumpled up in the bathroom.

“I think we’ve lost her, Carol,” my Dad said to my Mom at Christmas. “She’s never leaving California. She loves it.”

It was true. I loved the sun, the diversity, the progressive thinking. I loved the lazy time zone, the lack of bugs, and the beachside living. I admit I missed my family, but they visited frequently enough. And I admit a certain ache settled in my chest each October (no brisk air or changing leaves) and again in November (no first snowfall). But rollerblading next to the warm sand in January, I forgot about those things.

When I fell in love and married, I knew I’d stay in California forever. That is, until my husband received a call from an east coast investment firm.
My husband wanted the job.
I didn’t want him to take it.
Instead, I wanted to plead: please, please, no. I moved out here all alone, hand-picked Santa Monica as my community, and built my entire adult life in this spot. Don’t make me leave.
Despite the appeal of the new job, Ron wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with the complexities of uprooting. That meant if I argued earnestly, I was pretty sure he’d agree to stick with LA. But in the end, I didn’t beg. Ron had spent the last twelve months supporting me through a career makeover. Now that the tables were turned, I wanted to be as supportive to him as he’d been to me.

But one thought lingered: Are you just going to pack up your bags and follow your man across the country?

Crap. We haven’t even been married three years. Had I already become one of those wives? The kind who has lost their identity and is always bowing to their man’s every wish? I didn’t want that to be the case.

So I thought.
And I thought.

We could be bi-coastal.
I could ask Ron to withdraw his acceptance.
We could buy a vacation home in Palm Springs.

Maybe.
Maybe one day.

But as I contemplated, I realized it was solely my head that wanted to yell and scream and throw a fit about leaving. My heart was a little more open.

See, there’s more to the story.

My brother and future sister-in-law are currently relocating to the exact same area on the east coast. I miss them so much it hurts, and I love the idea of being neighbors (we’ve already been daydreaming – Sunday night dinners). My parents are also moving closer to the east coast. Those are just two pieces that have fallen into place. There are tons more. One after another the pieces keep falling. Anyone with half an IQ could see they’re not pure coincidences.

“This is simply the next pattern in the tapestry of your life,” my friend Sara said over the phone. The cry resonating deep inside told me her words were true.

So I’m going to let it happen. I’m going to sit back and enjoy the ride. I’m going to pry away from California slowly and ease myself into Maryland.
You will experience seasons again.
You can carve a pumpkin and smell the fire of burning leaves on a crisp autumn afternoon.
You can sip hot chocolate when it snows (and I know you like to curl up with a good book!).
You can revel in the first thaw of spring.
All those words are from Sara. But they are my words too. Deep down, a place with extreme seasons, and a place close to family, is the place I truly call home.

Besides, come to think of it, I didn’t bust. I crossed the border into California. And I made it out here for ten years. Ten good, long, beautiful years.

Blog House Keeping Matter: Requests have trickled in . . . Hey, Jenny, could you create an e-mail distribution list that notifies me when you post a new blog entry? Typically I try to post on Mondays, but I do have a distribution list and I'd love to add your name. Simply drop me an e-mail: jenny.rough@jennyrough.com.