Aloha!

I want to move to Kauai. There. I said it. I'm in love. With an island.

I know. I know. People go on exotic vacations and come back so tan and happy that they are convinced they would have a better life back on a beach in some remote location. Well, this time it's true. I would actually have a great life on that beach back on that remote island. I know the title of this blog is The City Girl, but truth be told I'm a Beach Girl. Always have been. I can't help myself. While I love a good pair of heels and getting all dolled up, I just adore a good beach day. In fact, I've been known to schedule work around prime beach hours just so I can get the absolute best sunshine of the day on this already tan skin.

I felt like I became a different version of myself on that island, the real version of myself. I finally slowed down. I slept more soundly. I craved time in the ocean and actually got out there. I laughed more. I smiled bigger. I let my hair down. (Like actually stopped wearing it all tied up on top of my head.) I lived more life on that island than I ever have back home. I enjoyed work more. (Yes, I worked while I was there. I didn't completely lose myself!) I made new friends.

I lived the good life that everyone talks about.

There is one set back, though, to the idea of actually living out there. I'm an habitual slave driver of myself. I will work until the cows come home, have dinner, brush their teeth, and go to bed. My idea of slowing down is driving the maximum speed limit. And while I was there I was constantly reminded of how much I over-live my own life (if that's even a thing). I never slow down and smell the roses, because I'm too excited to get to the destination already! So, I had to ask myself: Could I really live there and be happy in moment and really enjoy that place? And in that case, can I still live here at my beach and start to enjoy this place more than I do?

So, the plan is this: I will try to enjoy my life here a little more while secretly planning to somehow move my life out to my little island in the sun.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Ten.

Lesson Ten: Seize the Day OR 30 Days = 30 Chances
I recently said yes to a job that I normally would have said no to. Maybe it was because this City Girl has been missing life on The Ranch. Or maybe it was because recent changes have proved to weigh a little heavier on this heart than was anticipated. In any event, for the next 30 days I will be living just far enough away from The Beach that my city life will be taking a backseat to dusty roads, pie making and hauling hay.

Day One I started to think that maybe I had made a huge mistake. Life at The Beach wasn't exactly booming, but it wasn't all that bad was it? And while I did want a break from the monotony of overcast days and the white noise of rolling waves, did I really want to live 30 miles out of town with three horses and two dogs that feel like the equivalent of five foster children? I started to wonder what I had done. Just what had I signed on for?

Day Two looked a little better since a dinner with other humans was scheduled and I managed to finagle a wifi setup, but the nagging feeling of being in way over my head was still plaguing me. Today is Day Three and the feeling was still here. I had been trying to get a routine down and plugging away at some greatly neglected work to fill the time. But busyness does not cure heartache or change or even the occasional loneliness. So I stopped being busy and just sat and listened and thought to myself.

For the next 30 days I will have 30 chances to do...anything! I have 30 chances to get better at yoga, hike and see the sights, make new friends, dream up new business ideas, learn something new, grow spiritually, or just be present. I have 30 days that could change my life or I have 30 days that I can let make my life a misery.

So, once again, this City Girl is taking a leap. This time into undiscovered waters of unknown depth.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Nine.

Lesson Nine: Know your seasons.

I moved to The Beach a couple weeks ago. And I know I always say that I live at The Beach. But this time I moved, quite literally, to the ocean's doorstep. As in, I walk outside, cross the street, and I'm there. Toes in the sand. Salt air in my face. Sunshine and fog all around.

A few months before this fabulous decision to move, I had a sad break-up. A break-up that I saw coming down the pike that wasn't so sad because of the person about to leave, but because I knew the next season of self-growth that I had been skillfully avoiding was knocking at my door. And I didn't like the haunting feeling that I was about to hurt in yet another way. Felt like Scrooge anticipating the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. But I knew that it was time to leave my season of heartbreak and bravely submit myself to a season of healing.

It took the entire four months, one-third of 2011, for my little heart to heal. A time for all those shattered pieces to be gently gathered up, connected together, and for my heart to feel like it could truly beat on its own. And while four months doesn't sound like a long time, it was tough for this City Girl to be all alone. In fact, it was the first time I was decidedly alone in about 2 years. I had turned down dates, set-ups, any prospective males of any kind in hopes that my time alone would reveal some great truth about life or love. Instead, those four months were used to get me back on my feet and able to stand up tall against the corrupt winds of charm, possessed by the everyday douche bag, that seem to whisk toward me on a weekly basis. Those four months were an emotional bootcamp, of sorts, that prepared me to raise my bar when it comes to all things love related.

And now I live at The Beach. Which to anyone else may not mean a whole lot. But to this City Girl it means a new season. Being a solid 15 minutes outside of The City, this part of The Beach is sleepy, quiet and completely unassuming. This place is peaceful. And I can now say, without doubt in my mind, this new season will be one of restoration.

Stay tuned...

Wanderlust Strikes Again.

Wanderlust/ˈwändərˌləst/ : A desire to travel to understand one's very existence.

So, for the millionth time I find myself pausing at a fork in the road. Once again, I have to make a decision between awesome and amazing as I begin planning for the chasing of my future self through Europe.

Boohoo. Poor me, right?

The question du jour: Do I put my life in storage again for a couple months and travel around Europe? Or do I try to find an affordable place to live at The Beach, which is like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of Texas, so that I have a place to come back to? It's not a super tough decision, it's just a quandary. Which is the smarter move for this City Girl? Hmm.

Hott Mess. Two T's.

My attention is getting torn in about 50 different directions this week. It’s hard to tell what is supposed to take priority during the day. This week is oddly reminiscent of all the times I’ve packed up for another long stint on the road. My brain just doesn’t know where to start. It has so many thoughts swirling around inside it, it feels like a witches cauldron about to run over.

My heart keeps pining over The Possibility, which forces one half of my brain to regurgitate these same thoughts: What are we? When do we have “that” conversation that makes or breaks all relationships? When am I going to see him again, anyway? What if he still wants to see other people? I’ll have to tell him that won’t work for me. I’ll be alone. Again. I hate that girl that keeps commenting on his facebook page. I hate facebook. I can’t believe I’m letting daily thoughts of some guy dominate half my brain Ooh! A text! Aww, he misses me...I think.

Meanwhile, the other half of my brain is on another page entirely: Is everything really packed up? What am I forgetting? I know I’m forgetting something. I always do. I should paint those shelves before I leave. Did I call my insurance guy? That’s all taken care of, right? Oh god, I hope I don’t crash with that trailer behind my car. Sweet lord, I’m moving on Monday! I hope I don’t get back to The Beach and become homeless within a matter of months. I don’t think I could pull off homeless. My jaw hurts. Why does my jaw keep hurting? Have I been clenching my jaw ALL day?? Oh great. I probably have that worry line forming in between my eyes, too. Did I put all of my marketing plans in iCal, yet? Note to self….oh shoot…I forgot what that note was about.

Between the boy and the move my brain and heart may end up simultaneously exploding. I can’t sleep at night. When I do finally drift off to dreamland, I wake up every hour on the hour, as if my body is trying to remind me of all the daily stress. I can’t eat either. My stomach is constantly in connection with my heart, which constantly reminds it how nervous it should be about my impending date with love or heartache. And I'm not sure what my eyes are connected to, but they keep filling up with tears...

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Five.

Lesson 5: Just Let Go

This may be my toughest learning lesson yet. In fact, I know it is, because I find myself repeating a string of words in varied orders lately. I can't help myself. I keep hearing myself saying the same words over and over again and it has far surpassed my level of patience and annoyance. It's just like when you nick your knee while shaving your legs and the blood that just won't stop coming seems like overkill. You think the scrape isn't that bad, but try as you might no amount of pressure or bandaid fixes will stop the flow.

Some things in life are easy to let go of: the fact that you'll probably never win the lottery, getting picked over for kickball, not having the ability to walk through walls, watching some jerk steal your parking spot, etc. Other things, however, can seem like gum stuck to your shoe. It's a process that can take daysmonthsyears before all that sticks to you, all that resonated with you as your "for sure" life plan for so many years, finally falls away and fades into the past where it belongs.

I'm on the verge of another big move, the possibility became something more (although what that is I have no idea!), all the things I was told would happen didn't and I am, once again, working for myself full-time. Basically, everything that was supposed to happen hasn't, absolutely everything I'm involved in has no guarantees of working in my favor and everything I thought was never possible has become a reality. And instead of being happy with where my adventurous life is today, I've been looking back and crying over what didn't pan out. In my head I know that what failed to come to fruition was probably not the best for me, but for some reason my heart has decided to fall into a pit of funk over that fact. It's ridiculous. It's stupid. It's silly.

I had an old roommate who used to say, "Where there's fruit, there's a root." That phrase used to make me cringe, because I knew she was right. She was so, so right. And once again I hear her words in my daily thoughts. So, now instead of repeatedly mulling over the past I will only be asking, "Where is this mother effing gum coming from?!"

Waiting for the phone to ring...

When it comes to big life changes the waiting part, the in between, can be excruciating. Relationships, moving, lifestyle decisions, you name it! It's not the actual change that will kill a girl it's the suspense that will do her in. Mignon McLaughlin said it best, "Even cowards can endure hardship; only the brave can endure suspense."

The excitement, the wonder, the thrill of the unknown...all great things until the suspense has lingered on and on. And then it's only a matter of time before it turns to agony, am I right?

There's no place like home.

I drove myself back to The Beach yesterday. I've been staying with good friends since I got here and waiting for "the feeling" to hit me. The feeling that tells me I'm home. The feeling that makes everything all right, perfect. It hasn't yet. If anything, driving around this place kind of feels like visiting my old high school haunts...or something along those lines. Every street corner is so familiar and crowded with memories, but clearly feels like a place from my past.

After 6 or so hours of driving yesterday I did something I never do. I turned off the radio and drove the last hour in silence. It was beautiful. A perfect hour of peace that surrounded me and filled up all the spaces of my car. I had had ideas pass through my mind all day, or rather day dreams, but in that last hour I thought clear, concise thoughts. Thoughts that mattered. Thoughts that meant something to me then and even now, today.

I realized before I even reached The Beach that no matter where I land next it won't feel like home. At least not right away. The road has become my home. The airport is my living room and hallway. Random couches and hotels have become my bedroom. My life fits best into a 22" x 14" piece of luggage. Wanderlust has become my lifestyle.

Why, you say? I say why not!

The question for me these days that's on everyone's tongue is: Why? Why am I moving back to The Beach?

I wish I had a good answer for this. I wish I could say something that sounds grown-up, mature, responsible. I wish I had some sort of dream job that was leading me back there; something that makes sense of the last year of my hopping from city to city. But the truth is I don't. I usually just stammer through some weak answer that sounds like this: "Um...well...I mean, I guess Portland just didn't seem to line up. And um...I end up back at The Beach every couple of months anyway. So...yeah...looks like all the signs keep pointing me south. I guess."

In person I'm a regular Poet Laureate.

I was thinking today about a friend of mine who is known for moving from city to city, country to country while simultaneously fulfilling her career and adventure desires, but without any set plans. Things always just seem to line up for her as she goes. Years ago when we all lived seemingly happy lives at The Beach, I and everyone else would always ask her why she felt the need to constantly live in different places and her response was always: "Why not?!" As if everyone else was crazy for wanting to stay settled in one place for years and years. I was so confused by her free spirited outlook on life. Now, however, I'm simpatico. I get it! The very idea of having a wonderful life in various exotic or exciting new cities sounds absolutely incredible. Why wait until you're old and grey to travel to new places when you can be living in them your whole life and really enjoying the food, the people, the sights?

Just in the last week, the upcoming move was beginning to look daunting to me. It was becoming a dark cloud looming in the distance. I was starting to get an icky feeling. Am I about to make a huge mistake? Am I going backwards? Ohdeargod, will this be as long-term as the last time?!

I was starting to get tunnel vision that this move was not only a step backwards, but that it could be forever. As if I would slip into a past version of myself and be signing my life away, like I would no longer be in control of my own decisions.

Yeah...that'll be the day!

So, when a friend called today to get the scoop on the rumor that's been floating amongst our friends of my impending return, I still didn't have the all-American, mature answer. I only thought of my free-spirited friend and said, with a sparkle in my eye and a knowing smile on my face, "Why not?!"

This picture has nothing to do with the current post. I just thought it was ridiculously cute! Another "why not?!" ;)

Work hard, play hard.

I recently had an appointment with a new chiropractor and had to list off all of my past ailments including any incident that would send one to the emergency room. I was somewhat embarrassed to admit that I've had more than my far share of ER visits in the past.

As I listed off my tangled web of concussions and broken bones to this new doctor I noticed that his note taking could barely keep up with my lengthy speech. I stopped mid-sentence and blushed at his furious scribbling. I started to say how I was probably the first girl that he'd ever had in his office with such a sordid history when he stopped me and said, "If someone doesn't have a long list like yours, they haven't played hard enough." This, of course, made me smile and blush even harder.

I later felt like I had walked out of his office with a gold star. I was almost beaming at the thought that somebody would view my history of accidents as a memorable memoir. My failed attempts didn't mark me a failure, but rather an avid liver of life!

Every time I've taken a fall in the past the following questions race through my mind:

1. Did I just break another bone?
2. Oh crap, is that blood? 
3. Exactly how many people just saw me do that?

A concept I've been slowly grasping during my "life sabbatical" this last year is that it doesn't matter what others think. Don't let the opinionsthoughtsfeelings of others dictate what you do and who you become.

Of course this concept would finally resonate with me in yet another doctor's office. Ha!

I have by no means perfected this mindset, but I do feel that I am armed to the teeth with a new outlook on life. So, as I begin to look for a new place to live at The Beach I am not letting outside influences have an effect on my decisions. I will just continue to work hard, play hard and live out my sometimes clumsy life.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Four.

Lesson 4: Worrying is not resting.

I just wrote an article as a guest blogger for another writer out in The Second City today and used some of the lyrics from a song by Rocko: You just do you, Umma do me. Love that song. Speaks volumes about having confidence in who you are. And it falls right in line with a conversation I had with a friend the other night about breaking out of that 9-5 box.

The conversation went on and on about our both feeling like we've broken out of the corporate societal box and ended with, "Who cares what they think? And who is 'they' anyway?!"

Good question, no?

As much as I don't want to admit that I allow other people's expectations to influence what I do, it does. Being newly self-employed I have been feeling a little stressed lately about the hours I keep and how and when I get work done. My schedule looks nothing like other people's schedules. I sleep in. A lot. I also stay up all hours of the night taking care of business. Late at night is my muse. Late at night is when the light bulb in my head starts to turn on and the magic begins. Late at night is what has been bringing me new clients at a steady and increasing pace.

I've always wanted to be the sort of person that gets up early in the morning and gets all kinds of things done before noon. I have never once been that person and I can see now that I probably never will be.

I really admire morning people. I hate them when they try to talk to me before 9am, but still....I admire them.

Anyway, during this year long sabbatical I seem to have been on since last spring, I've learned a few things about resting. And I feel like I might be learning the final lesson: worrying about what others think/where I am headed/how I live my life/when I'll finally get to move again is not resting. It's draining like a slow tire leak until there's nothing left and you pass out at the dinner table.

I would say that I can't believe that it's taken me a year to learn how to truly slow down and rest, but I can believe it.

Wait. Why do I have to be the boss?!

So many great opportunities have come up lately that are keeping me awake at night. I'm absolutely exhausted trying to figure out what's right for me. I can't believe that I'm sleep deprived because of all the positive things in my life...

I've always been a firm believer that opportunity exists where ever you are and that's it entirely up to you to make it happen. That being said, it also doesn't hurt to have a few signs pointing you in the correct direction. And right about now, I have so many freaking signs pointing me in far too many directions that I've become frozen, like a deer in the headlights.

I recently gained a new client up north as well as a few career possibilities down south. And now I'm just plain tired. I'm tired of making all the hard decisions all alone and having to be the one that has the final say about what's right for me. If I'm being honest, I don't know that I'm always the best judge of what's right for me. Most of the time I'm pretty close to being on target, but the rest of time things don't always end up all happy clappy.

So, dear readers, what have you done in the past that has helped you make those hard decisions for yourself?

Heart, meet head.

When it comes to your heart, does it ever truly connect with your head? And should it even bother?

I've recently found myself getting swept away by a possibility. In the beginning, this possibility was more of "we'll see" and less of a sure thing. Later that possibility became a no. And then later, a resounding no along with other possibilities. And now...now that possibility has gained strength; becoming a strong possibility.

Amidst my impending move and this possibility are some fierce opinions between my head and my heart. My heart is excited, passionate, and longing while my head is attempting to wrestle its way to the lead with reason and logic. I feel like I've become the rope used in a tug of war. And with Black Monday and a trip to The Beach just around the corner, I have found that my head is starting to give way to my heart as it fantasizes about this possibility and what's to come...

Curiosity killed the cat. And me.

Ever get so curious about the "what if's" and the "what's to come" that you could just burst? That's me. I cannot stand the not knowing. I really can't.

If I've said it once I've said it a million times, I'm a destination girl. I like to pretend on certain days that I enjoy the journey, but if we're being honest here it's time for me to come clean one more time. I hate the suspense.

Even more honest: Maybe it's just me, but the worst part about the time that's in between one part of your life and the next is that it's usually a learning time. A time where something pertinent and profound is taught to you in some form or other. I'm sure there's a Mary Sunshine out there that thinks this season of life is awesome. I'm not her.

In between my deciding to move to Portland and the actual act of that happening, I've stumbled upon a few reasons why I might want to stay near The Bay. Nothing serious. Nothing really big. But they're there. Dangling in front of me. Taunting me. Trying to make me find other reasons to stay put.

Are you kidding me?!?!

This is me. Desperately trying to be patient.

Once again, I find myself forced to remain open to...anything. While it's sort of a relief to not have to commit too seriously to the unknown of a somewhat far away city, the curiosity of what's down the road is literally killing me.

Color me fickle.

Okay. OKAY! I know. I said that was the last post and I meant it. But every time I visit these words, ready to send it to blog heaven, I can't. I miss this little blog. I love my biz blog, but I yearn for this blog. My little corner of the web where I can rant and rave without worry. Where I can type out anything my little heart desires and not fear that I just upset a lurking client.

That's me. Little Miss Fickle.

So, dear readers, I have decided NOT to shut this little bloggy down. I need it too much. 

Having said that, here's my latest blahblahblah: I am about to move to Portland*. A city that I like, but can't help but instantly see pictures of unwashed hippies every time I say its name. A place I said I would never live. Ironically, I'm about to write out the exact same post I wrote about a year ago.

I'm moving.
Again.

This time I'm moving with purpose. Sort of. At least, I know what I want to do when I get there. I have visions of what my life could look like up there and it's not bad. In fact, between the haziness it looks pretty fabulous. I know without a doubt that I am the kind of girl who is about a million times happier when she's within arm's length of a burgeoning city. That said, I have really come to love life here in The Country. It's been a sweet place to come heal, rest and otherwise find myself all over again. A part of me is a little sad to leave. And truth be told, a large part of me has been scared to death lately.

I've always been envious of those people who just pick up and move on without a second thought. Those people who look at life like one big adventure all the time and never seem to have moments of self-doubt or worry.

Who are these people? Are they on drugs?? Can I get some of these drugs?!

Portland will not be the first city I've ever lived in. And It probably won't be my last. I have no idea what has me so fearful. I had to fight my way through this last year and fight I did. It almost took every last bit of me to make it through, but darn it if I didn't make it out of 2010 still in tact! Knowing that I took on the most crazy and convoluted mess that 365 days can throw your way and lived to tell about it, I can probably handle anything 2011 will throw my way.

So. I am making this move. I will probably be scared. And hopefully, in the meantime, get my excited mojo back. In any case, I will survive this too. And I will live to tell about it!


*I really do like Portland. In fact, I love that city. And I am very much looking forward to living there, despite what I wrote. The hippie comment is just a weird stereotype that I've believed for far too long. And anyway, it's not like hippies are zombies...

The winds of change.

The last couple of weeks have been crazy. And by crazy I mean it feels like I've been tossed around inside one of those rickety carnival rides....like the zipper. I hate that ride.

I went up to Portland last week to fully check it out and make a decision about whether or not I wanted to live there. I do. Yippee, right? Yes, yippee indeed. Not only did everything seem to line up perfectly and the city sweetly welcomed me with open arms, but contacts were made and the beginning of a new time in my life seems to be happening. And to mark that beginning I was laid off from a job I've had with an agency back at The Beach for almost 3 years.

Wait. What?!

So, what was supposed to be my means for moving just got yanked out from under me. And rather abruptly, I might add. Although, if I'm supposed to officially be an Oregonian (with their overly colorful-some might say dorky-license plates and all) then maybe it's time I become fully employed by the state that I will call my residence. So, instead of feigning a panic attack for theatrical purposes which will accomplish nothing but an accelerated heart rate, I've decided to reinvent the wheel of my career. The moment I hung up the phone with the CEO of my former company I began to brainstorm wildly about all the things I could do while unemployed and how to put myself heads above the rest in the job hunt. It was crazy-carnival crazy-how I didn't feel that horrible sinking/stomach-dropping-out-of-butt feeling when my British accented boss swung the ax, so to speak. I felt relieved. Almost as if a weight had been lifted. I felt peaceful.

We are family.

There's nothing quite like family. They might be the only people you'll ever know who will be there for you when you need them. And they will for sure be some of the few people in your life that you'll ever truly be honest with, vulnerable to, mean to, happy with, sad with, joyous with, grievous with, loving to, and otherwise crazy all around. I forgot all of this in the past few years.

The last five years I've managed to squeeze in a few trips home. A couple of trips here or there. But typically no more than 3 per year. This is not enough. In my mind it was the perfect amount. And all the trips were long enough to catch up, but not have to get too close or overly personal. I have shared many a moment with a roommate or good friend that could have (and sometimes probably should have) been shared with family.

Moving back up here amidst the crazy and dramatic that is my family, I realized today that I've needed them all along. Maybe I didn't want to be this close and maybe I didn't want to have to share my seemingly perfect and wonderful world with them, but deep down I always knew I needed them. I needed them close by. And as it turns out, they've needed me.

Thoughts on being nice.

I recently found a bunch of old stuff. The kind of stuff you don't realize you still have until you move. Now for the people who move their futon and toothbrush to a new place every few months, they probably have no idea what I'm talking about. But for the rest of the free world that only moves when they absolutely have to (because they understand the total hassle of packing up and resettling) this stuff has probably surfaced for them at some point, too.

My stuff consisted of a letter I wrote to myself about ten years ago (which turned out to not be as interesting as it sounds), a few scrapbooks and the belongings of an old boyfriend. When it comes to old boyfriends I tend to throw out everything and anything that reminds me of them the day we call it quits. But this guy was a different story. He was my high school sweetheart. He asked me to marry him when we were just kids. (I consider most 20 year olds to be kids. Babies, really.) I told him I wasn't ready and with that we slowly drifted apart. Mostly I pushed us apart, because where else can you go from that point? But anyway, I found a box of his stuff when I moved. I couldn't believe I still had all those love letters and things from almost ten years ago. I also couldn't remember why I had kept them with me when I had first moved away from home. But c'est la vie!

Since we called it quits there were only a couple times that I heard from him through email and letters, but I still wasn't ready to be his friend again. So, I just let it lie. Essentially, I ignored him until he left me alone. So, it's no surprise to me that when I emailed him and asked if he'd like some of his stuff back I didn't hear back from him...except we're adults now. He's about to turn 30 this year, we're friends on FB, he just got a new girlfriend and I figured that he would have the politeness to just give me a yes or no. Apparently, I was wrong. I half want to be upset, but my other half understands. And it's not like I'm trying to send him a bunch of mix tapes. I have legitimate stuff! Things he earned! AWARDS, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

All this to say, this move didn't just force me to take a look at myself, but all the things that come with being me. Old me. New me. The me I'm working on today.

Moving is a messier undertaking than I had originally thought...

Today's the day!

Yesterday I officially moved up to The Lake. It seemed totally surreal, fake, weird, and down right indescribable. I wondered how could it be that I was moving away from paradise to some other place?

The day started out with breakfast (at the ungodly hour of 7:30am) with my old housie, Ashley, at Cajun Kitchen where we laughed till it hurt and talked till we teared up. And then I was off to pack up the last few things at the Freedom House and head out. I drove down Grand Ave and started to have a million flashbacks of the summer I had spent with, my now long-time friends, Tim and Meg. And as I looked over the city from the riviera I remembered everything at once...school, friends, church, surfing, bike rides, the apartment. It just didn't seem real. I kept saying to myself, "You're just going on a long vacation. You'll be back here before you know it!"

Then I drove up to SLO where I had lunch with a couple of my oldest and dearest friends. And even though we haven't seen each other since Thanksgiving, we just picked up where we left off and talked about everything in about an hour and hugged and giggled until it was time for all of us to get back to our lives.

 

Aren't these girls just presh?!














No, she's not going into labor! I just made her laugh really hard. :)

And then I headed north. For real this time. But it didn't seam real. I caught up with a few friends on the phone, checked my facebook page a million times, detoured for the a couple of starbies, and sang as loud as I could in the car until my throat hurt. I only felt a lump form in my throat a couple times and I managed to push it and the tears away. I was pretty proud of myself for not getting all emotional over something as dumb as a move to a new town.

It's crazy, but they have actual trees and nature-y stuff right next to the road!

I stopped off for a bit at my grandmother's house and watched a game show, that was the equivalent of watching old footage of my summer camp days, with her for about an hour and then drove the last hour....home. Just as my car started to crest the hills covered in vineyards, it hit me. I wasn't driving to my hometown or my parents house. I was driving home. A home that even though it's very familiar, it seems very new. I couldn't help it. The lump in my throat became a knot and then it became something sizable to a boulder. It was too big to push away. And so were the tears.

And once again, I'm excited to be here (or at least move on), but sad for what I left behind.

And furthermore!

And let me just add one more thing to yesterday's post:

I've been kicking myself a little about this giant transition of being a center-of-it-all city girl to going back to the slower-paced life in the country. And it's partly because this is something I said I would never do. And partly because I've had so much time to think about it that I feel I should be used the idea by now. And excited. Or at the very least, ready to go.

Even as I was typing out my thoughts last night, I kept thinking to myself, "Why aren't you there yet? You should be on-board with this change by now!" And then I got to thinking today about how I felt right before I moved to SB. I didn't want to stay home, but I didn't want to go either. I wasn't excited at all. I was scared. I was curious, for sure, but mostly I was scared to death that I was going to somehow single-handedly ruin my life in one swift move down the coast.

Hmm...I'm sensing a pattern here...

So, I let up on myself a little more today. It's not for me to reason why. And it's not up to me to make life amazing before it even happens. My responsibility to is to ride the ride. Arms and hands in the air at all times.

Did I mention that I'm not a fan of roller coasters? 

Just looking at this picture makes me reach for a paper bag.