It was seven days into December 2014 and I was sitting on a beach in La Jolla, eating a Cliff Bar. I stared into the horizon where the sky fell into the Pacific. The tide was retreating after an impressive early morning high, thanks in part to the full moon. The cool breeze made it too chilly for lying out but I still had my swimming suit on order my shorts, t-shirt and light flannel. A year earlier I layered turtle necks under my sweaters and heavy wool socks with my Ugg boots to ward off the cold of a Kansas winter. A year earlier, all of this seemed just out of reach.
There are times when an opportunity presents itself that you cannot turn down, even if it means taking a running jump at what appears to be the edge of a cliff. That’s how it felt to leave my hometown and my family again. I had become comfortable, but who wants to be comfortable? It was time to do something huge. And so my husband and I, both in our forties, decided one day to take the running jump that would land us in San Diego.
It wasn’t that we pinned a map to the wall and threw a dart that hit the southwestern edge of the country. It was somewhere we had wanted to go. He grew up in here. When we visited one summer, I fell in love and didn’t want to leave. At the end of that trip, I remember tears swelling in my eyes as we turned the Jeep east to begin the long drive back to Kansas. With that, the wheels were set in motion, turning ever slowly. I was working to complete my degree, which would take two more years, along with the other setbacks that waited in our path.
Things are not often easy. We continued forward, always with the goal in mind, although sometimes hidden in the farthest corners. Finally 2014 became the year. All at once the big things fell into place and the little things fit nicely in the spaces between.
At the end of May I found myself immersed in this world where the sun always shines and palm trees line the streets in beach communities. It was immediately different, the people, the cars, even the air. So many things were not the same in this new state: recycling, gas dryers, warnings on everthing, landscapes, signs, liquor stores, bike lanes, tacos, traffic pedestrians, sales tax, opportunity. I found it to be an amazing place, full of life and movement. As I sat on the beach that day in December, still new, I stared into the distance. The ocean was loud and quiet and fierce and calm. I breathed in the salt air, exhaled, my thoughts for the moment peaceful. I took it all in. It felt like home.
Take the 52 west 