The above quote is by Oscar Wilde, and how true it is. Many things have changed since my last entry, but then again, life tends to go all topsy-turvy on us, does it not?
Effective March 1st, I will have voluntarily terminated my employment with the Ernest and Julio Gallo Winery, the first and only real job I have ever had. I put my 30 days’ notice in to my apartment, and on the last weekend of February, I will be moving to 14th and Clement St. in the Richmond district of beautiful San Francisco, California. I cannot convey to you in words how much this means to me, and in what an acute state of shock I still find myself. I feel more like myself than I have, really, since the end of college. A friend of mine has mentioned how she still, after the better part of a year living in the City, still experiences moments of unexpected glee conjured up by the wonder of living in the best town in the world.
I have never lived outside of the Central Valley of California; although I never see myself settling permanently outside of the state, I also have adamantly ruled out the possibility of spending a single day more in this place without the weight, both physical and psychological, of progeny in tow. I feel stifled here, like a big fish in a pond far smaller than those I have seen. The truth is, I’m not a big fish, but I could become one here in five years if I decided to stick around. But this isn’t the kind of life I want to lead. I never want to be entirely sure of myself or my surroundings; I want life to keep surprising me. And Modesto, for better or for worse, cannot at this stage in my life lend me that luxury. There will be a season for this sort of place, and I look forward to wintry nights of the future with the kids and the wifey all gathered around, watching a movie with some popcorn and savoring the sedentary lifestyle. That season will come, but it is not now.
I type these things almost as if to tell myself, because I need a kick in the pants in order to move on. I settle into habits quickly — as does any person, really, and there’s nothing wrong with that predilection — and I want to prevent myself from becoming comfortable. I want to be stretched, and I want to be grown, and I want to be happy while achieving those objectives. And — with high hopes of avoiding the placement of San Francisco on a pedestal — I believe that the City promises me this possibility.
I have high expectations for myself, and I fear unsuccessfully fulfilling them. I guess what I want to avoid is waking up one morning with a balding scalp, a potbelly, and a stabbing sense of regret for having avoided risks. Life is just… too short.
Finally, finally, my day-to-day promises to become awesome. I guess I don’t exactly know what to expect, but I feel like my friendships will be reinvigorated, my creativity will once again come bursting forth, and my love of life will return in the form of chapped lips from extended walks, steam rising from clam chowder bread bowls on the Wharf, Coronas drank on lawnchairs while watching the sun set from the roof of our sweet sweet apartment, and the jangly opening chords of whatever bands I may have the opportunity to see in the evenings.
I tend to see life in chapters, and I lie in full readiness for my next chapter to begin by acquiescing to a desire that has driven me now for many moons: a move to culture, to bridges, and to love. “You know what it is?” John Steinbeck mused. “San Francisco is a golden handcuff with the key thrown away.” I AM IN FULL AGREEMENT, JOHNNY.
HERE I COME S.F., GET READY TO ROCK ME
