2 posts tagged “moving”

     There's this website that asks you a bunch of questions about what your ideal lifestyle is like- geography, education, recreation, cost-of-living, climate, etc.- then spits out a list of US cities that would likely suit you, complete with reports, housing listing, basically all of the info you could want to get the gist of a place.  I've been concerned lately with the future (yeah, it blows,) and am really wondering if Fresno, even California, is right, so I made Chris sit down with me and answer the questions to get some different ideas. 
     I realize we left out political and religious preferences.  I wonder if this makes a difference in our cities?  We're both pretty neutral.
     Soooooo.... our list.  Yeah, some locations made sense, others total shockers.  Many, after reading the info on them, seemed surprisingly appropriate.  And, none of them in California.
     I think I was expecting more Southeast cities, the Tennessees, Kentuckys, and whathaveyou.  Our list was comprised mostly of Washington and North Carolina cities, with a sprinkling of Oregon, Virginia, and Pennsylvania towns.
     While I am still trying to conquer the fear of living far away from my family, Chris and I have talked about moving out of state, and as far away as another country, so although my gut dropped at this list of states that, to me, might as well be another country, I began to read up on our recommendations.  Although Chris says he is down to move anywhere, I was less interested in the Carolinas, and Chris immediately perked up at Washington.  Seems some  distant family he once visited lives there, and he thought it was beautiful as a kid.  I was pumped that America's #1 most literate city-- Seattle--  appeared on our list.  Other smaller cities in Washington were list-toppers, like Tacoma, Kent, Bellingham, Olymipa.
     So, we read up on them.  And I got all excited.  These places sound like a west-coast dream.  Washington is absolutely gorgeous, especially if you love the outdoors.  The cities we were recommended are all on the Puget Sound.  Cost of living is affordable.  Cities are clean.  The industries we want are there and growing.  They seem perfect.
     If we made a similar income (although, logically, our income should increase after Chris finishes this last semester and starts working full time,) living there would work out easily. I can imagine buying a small home or condo, biking in the Cascades, spending a day in Seattle, kayaking on the Sound, teaching in a good school district.  We could get a dog (a lab if it were up to me, or a corgi for Chris,) and throwing snowballs if we lucked out with some snowfall.  To top it off, many of these cities are very ecologically conscious, which is very important to me.
     What I have a harder time imagining is being far away from everyone important to me as they have babies, buy homes, retire, die...  How do people deal with this?  My mother would be devastated in her silent way.
     We loved Santa Cruz and talked in depth about moving, but the cost of living is so extreme, drugs are rampant, and the school system is the worst.  While it's close  to family, it's on the iffy list.
     Maybe these suggestions would work for us, maybe not.  While I hate leaving my family, people do it all the time and love their decision.  Besides, we could always come back from anywhere if we wanted to.
     Since the best time to move is coming in half a year, we should probably check things out before we make concrete decisions.  Maybe it's time to plan a trip to Washington!

     It's terrible, this taste of hope with a splash of fear, like a cocktail mixed by an amateur.  This is utter dread of the shiny bright future.

     One incredible weekend spent at an uneventful and charming Santa Cruz bungalow housing a gay couple, dark artwork, and three darling cats has bored itself into our hearts, and I can feel changes bleeding through my skin already.

     We watched sea lions and the crowded sandy beach next to the famous boardwalk (that we didn't bother with,) then were confused by redwood forests on mountains just minutes away.  What is this place, I thought, that combines my two favorite things about the Golden State literally within hiking distance from each other?  We experienced the strange Mystery Spot, surrounded by tall redwoods, then made our way to the pier for salmon and chowder.

     It's home, says Scott over Pad Thai and diet Coke.  It's a little town with a big city feel, or vice versa.  All you could ever want to see or be a part of is at your fingertips.  I like going to visit, but I am always eager to come back, he tells us.  I understand in a way I'd like to deny.  The San Joaquin Valley is good in it's soiled and fruitful way; it is our origin, where our blood flows from, where family and history tie us to the place with a bind that we will never resent.  We love summer-warm peaches and dusty old traditions, and even a way of life that runs as consistently as the changing of the seasons.  Home but not home, where we long to be comfortable being who we know we really are, or being who we want to become.  Our way of thinking doesn't quite mesh with Fresno's.

     My new uncle took us downtown where I discovered a pleasing mix of pretentious and dumpy, artistic, trendy, vintage, and liberal.  Street performance present but kept to an unobtrusive minimum, and a creative mix of interests in shop doorways made me feel as though I would always have something to satisfy creative hunger or necessity.  Los Gatos reeked of perfumed desperate housewives and sweet farmers' markets, the corner store dripped with Mexican culture, the pier spotted with hippies, and the average neighborhood street boasted of understated vintage architecture.  And people of different lifestyles and views mingled together without a clue.  Everyone is just real.

     There's all kinds here, Phil says as we wait in the lobby of a hot Mexican restaraunt that serves amazing sopas.  It doesn't really matter what you like, you fit in.  This is apparent to me with minimal observation.

     At night the fog rolls in and chills away the heat of the day and I sleep well, even in a double-sized bed with a hot body pressing against me.

     And then there's the opportunity.  Will my beautiful talented husband only go so far in Fresno?  Will his designs become stagnant and standard with only the agriculture industry to market to?  How much will graphic design flourish here?  Will these last strenuous several years of blossoming into a skilled artist mean nothing after all when he has to take an office job to pay rent?  Santa Cruz county isn't so restricted, far more creative and in need, minutes away from San Jose and an hour from Frisco, where he could probably live off of freelancing if not designing for a firm, and eventually become an art director on a salary.  I'll go where he needs to go, and he won't go anywhere unless I, too, desire to go.

     I could substitue teach for awhile until I find my niche.  I only need the county credential and fingerprints.  It would be far superior to the industry I have fallen into here.

     But like a flood it comes and I remember my mother's softening face and the way we have begun to enjoy each other as women; I recall my dad's mellowing attitude and how we have managed to say the things we never could and laugh together, often.  I see my sister- my most cherished friend- having her long-awaited first child, and my absence in their lives leaves a giant blank, like white negative space in an almost-perfect masterpiece.  They are my life, my family-- the ones who have given me everything and asked nothing.  I want to be the perfect auntie, give my parents something in return, build a life where they can see that I am respecting these gifts they give me.  These are the reasons I don't want to go.

     Phil's sister, Lisa, hands me information on low-income housing aid as we watch Chappel's Show in her downstairs apartment that is more spacious than ours.  She tells us that almost everyone has assistance, you can even get an ocean view for under $1000 a month.  About all apartments and homes for rent accept HUD or some form of assistance.  "Low-income" translates to "not rich" here, and there isn't the stigma surrounding it that one would find in Fresno: it is simply how the county lends its residents a hand.

     We could re-locate.  It's a real possibility. We were your age when we moved, Scott tells us, and we had nothing, not even a bed.  You already have family here.  Scott makes me happy with his comfortable honest way, and I smile at the thought of going on a whim to watch his band play at a local venue, then returning home to an apartment that is a bike-ride from the ocean.  

     It's too real.  The contentment on my husband's face and the suspicion that I, too, would be more content in Santa Cruz, with it's abundant platter of all of the delectibles that I've ever wanted to taste, indicate to me that we need to make a decision.  We have one semester before life begins.

     I hate change.  I am so uncomfortable where I should be thrilled.  I don't really know how to deal with this decision.