So, people come to California to find themselves. It's like a cliche. The second half of the cliche has them failing horribly and leaving broke and in disgrace. You know the story.
Well I never wanted to move to California. I don't like the beach, I get sun burn, and fires and earth quakes scare me. I didn't have any real interest in "finding myself" either. I was pretty sure I wasn't lost. But to California I went. (The things we do for love...)
Well a funny thing happened one summer- I got happy. Like the content, confident, I have a handle on life sort of happy. It happened by accident. I was living alone (mostly) for the first time in my life, it was sunny, and I was walking every day. I was listening to the music I liked, buying Phish Food ice cream every week, and dancing in my living room with no one to laugh at me. I wasn't supposed to be happy. Based on the other things in my life I was probably supposed to be balled up on the couch crying, but for the most part I was happy. I didn't even notice I was happy at the time. I just was.
Well I'm leaving California in a few days, also not by choice. (The things we do for love.) And while I'll never like its crazy drivers or its constant threats of burning down I think I'm going to miss this crazy place. Thank you California. Thank you for me.
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