One year ago today was the day I had the job interview that resulted in my move to Los Angeles three weeks later.
I still kind of half expect to wake up in my bed in Vancouver, in the house at Tenth and Alma, with the last year a dream. And pictures like this of downtown make me a little homesick. I’d give a lot, today, to be able to walk, half-dancing, down West Broadway in Kitsilano, to drink a giant cup of coffee at Calhoun’s, to bike along Jericho Beach, to stand at the edge of UBC campus.
Then again, I suspect that if I did wake up, tomorrow, back in my last life, I’d get bored really quickly. Doesn’t stop me dreaming of endless forests, of islands, of rocks and mist, of the city of glass surrounded by mountains, but it reminds me why I’m here.
The irony is that I might get called to leave Los Angeles in the near future – an opportunity found me that, if I get it, will be too good to pass up. Catch? Sanfranfuckingcisco. Yes, I left my heart there. Yes, I love it. Yes, it is a lot closer to home, mentally and physically and geographically, than Los Angeles. But my friends, my home, my tribe are here, dammit, and I just bounced back from leaving everyone I knew and loved behind last year.
And I’m not done with L.A. I’m not done learning about it, studying it, exploring it. I haven’t seen all of it yet, the museums and history. I have homework to do on it that I should be here to do.
The opportunity calling for me…might be irrelevant. It might not go through. And it found me – I didn’t go looking for anything in the Bay Area. I did two years ago, when Andrew left. But that’s long since cooled to friendship, and I can’t see it being anything else, ever again. We might have been the perfect couple at UBC, but that was half a world away. He’s irrelevant to whatever may call me back north. I adore him to bits for what he is and as a friend, but he was always my Berger, not my Big.
(I know I’ll field that question many times if I go up there though. I do every time I go through San Francisco anyways, even though I’ve loved the City since I was seventeen. I so wish he’d ended up in Calgary sometimes so I wouldn’t have my motives questioned.)
I’m hoping that by talking about this, I’ll jinx it, that it’ll deflate and disappear, that I can stay in L.A., in my life, without change. And yet…San Francisco? It’s my white city, it’s my Minas Tirith, my Havor Great Port, it’s the southern borders of the Pacific Northwest. It is the inspiration for the cities I call “home”. If I was there, would I still miss Vancouver as much? Would I still long for Kitsilano if I had Russian Hill? Would I still miss the Endowment Lands if I had the Presidio? Would I still miss window shopping on Fourth if I had the Mission? Would I still dream of the Northwest forests if I could escape into Marin County, drive up to Mendocino, to those places on the Coast I just fell in love with when I came down here?
One year ago today, I started this – it seems somewhat apt that the life I built as a result should threaten to end at this time of year. It’s an opportunity I want, badly. It’s too good to not push for, too good to turn down, but what about the rest of my life? How many times do I have to leave the tribe I’ve built up, in each city, as I get called to the next stage in my life?