They say you should never tell anyone your plans. I mostly agree. Other people have a way of dampening the mood, throwing cold water on a fire that’s only just begun to smoke. However, I’m also in the full swing of healing and happily eliminating negative Nancies and Nelsons from my life in a moving-across-the-country like purge. At the slightest whiff of a water-thrower, I’m out. I’m going to die one day, I do not have time for the negative nonsense of those hoping to dim my light so they might shine.
So. I’m going back home to California.
The truth is I wanted to return in 2015. Ten years ago. When I was 31. It’s taken a lot of that aforementioned healing for me to finally prioritize myself, and not the moods, whims, and desires of my family, coworkers and “friends.”
When I say I’ve been healing, I really mean it.
Getting back to who I was supposed to be
I’m finally righting a wrong that cost me my thirties. Fortunately no one believes I’m 41, so now I can return home with the wisdom of middle age with a still youngish face. Plus the perspective of living in different states, with different jobs. I’ll re-enter California with gratitude that can only be forged through 17 years in other states.
Texas isn’t for me. I tried. Washington was a closer fit, but that wasn’t it either. I’m a California girl, through and through. The sunshine, the beach, the mountains, the high desert, wineries, palm trees, “Keep Clear” in the roadways, AM PM, and In&Out. That’s me. I’ve tried fighting it for too long, and I’m done. I want to go home. I’ve wanted to go home for ten years and, were I to do it all over again, would’ve sprinted all the way back in 2015 and told my family to figure it out without me.
I’m aiming this time for Southern California, where I was actually born. So I have birth rights to the place, if such things existed. I was raised in Northern California, graduated high school and college from the Central Valley, got my first “big girl” job in the Bay Area, and then moved north to Washington out of family obligation.
Seriously, “family obligation” could be an entry-filled tome many of us eldest daughters could pour into.
Smaller footprints, bigger life
It’s my hope I’ll be home for Christmas. Will it happen? Who knows. So much is left up to the fates. I might be alone with my dogs and horses, but I’ll be home, making the life I actually want for me. Not the life of other people hoping I’d fit the way they wanted me to.
As Californians returning home to the golden state often say, I’d rather live in a box in California than a mansion anywhere else. There is infinite truth to that. I may have to rough it in a trailer as I slowly build my own house. Running water? Electricity from the grid? Those might be luxury items for me in Southern California. But I’d rather jump into the Pacific Ocean and air dry on a sandy beach then kick it in a monstrosity of a house in Texas where I have to run the AC nine months out of the year.
Because this next phase of my life is mine. Many of us get to the same point when we realize that oh, we’re all going to snuff it one day. Why in Gia’s great bosoms would I spend another day worrying about what someone else wants, catering my behavior to their feelings, shrinking myself to make them more comfortable? I’ve had it.
I want to live in Southern California because that’s what I want. It’s what I wanted ten years ago when I had one horse, two dogs, and no mortgage. It would’ve been a breeze to get back. Now I come with baggage and regret, but plenty of wisdom too. Carrying way too much overhead and responsibilities that, I have realized, do not spark joy.
I will be downsizing. A smaller footprint for a bigger life. Fewer obligations, less overhead, more fun.
It’s crucial for me to do less of what I dislike so I might do more of what I want. This is just math, of course. I want more time to have fun, actual fun with elements of thrill and danger like a true equestrian idiot. But more than that, I want more time and creativity to become what I’ve envisioned for myself for decades.
So California, here I come. I hope soon. I hope very soon.
For more on my exit from Texas: