Study Domestic

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I have a bit of a confession. When I first moved here, I did a lot of feigned gushing about how much I just loved the Bay Area. And in truth, maybe momentarily, I did. But the honeymoon period has most definitely waned. I think I wanted to love it because everyone wanted me to. And because they loved it. And because I know how much everyone just wants me to be happy, etc. etc. But, in truth, I still don’t feel like I belong here. And it’s hard to know how much of that is because of my father’s death, or my mother’s falling apart, or just my own recovery from the last couple of years. I’d like to believe I can be one of those people who feels grounded and at home just about anywhere, but the fact is that I’m just not right now.

I’ve lived far from home before. I’ve traveled pretty widely. But there’s something very dispiriting about feeling so out of place here, and fearing like it’ll be this way forever. Plus, there’s this stupid Nina Nastasia song I can’t get it out my head. It starts, “It’s high time to make a move. It might not get better. There. I saaaaaid it.” It’s like on auto-fucking-repeat in my head. And every time it starts, I’m all, “Shut up, Nina!” And then Nina’s all, “Last time you were feeling like this/You left with a light coat and near froze, to death.” And then I’m like, “this is SOOOO different, Nina.” And then Nina’s all, “Why don’t you stay home where you’re loved?” And I’m like, “Okay, Nina, now you’ve stopped being applicable to the current situation. Stop speaking to me, please.”

And then when I’m done having imaginary play fights with folk singers, I feel only slightly better.

So then. I’ve decided to make a deal with myself. I’m giving this thing a year. One year. I’m playing the same trick I played on myself in Tucson. I have a lease till next May. I know I can do anything for a year. So I’m giving myself that long. If I still don’t like it in a year, I’ll leave. To go where, I don’t know yet.

I don’t know that moving again will solve anything (and I DO know that it won’t solve everything), but the knowledge that I can leave if I want to makes me hopeful in a way that I’ve just not been the last few months. I just have to give myself that freedom right now. As much as I love my coworkers and my work, I just can’t feel as trapped as I’m feeling right now and have anything close to a joyful life. And I’m tired of living my life for, or in opposition to, what’s expected of me. I think that trying to do that, in general, is what’s fucked me up most.

So, a year. Until then, I’m trying to live every day as if I’m already planning my departure. Like study abroad. Only in California. And I happened to have brought my furniture. I think imagining this move as more finite will make me more appreciative. And less hostile with tourists and other such people who walk too slow. Good things, all around.

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