Week 11…

And to be fair, Seattle was where I went to graduate school (Go Dawgs). And it was where I worked for a decade plus — commuting downtown; commuting to Eastlake; commuting to the U-District; commuting to my living room, and even the occasional commute to the Twitch SEA office (which was a few blocks away from The Paramount Theatre).

Still, my home in the PNW was Edmonds — “newly-wed, or nearly-dead” — Edmonds, WA. Nestled on the edge of the Puget Sound, Edmonds was the charming little-ish town where I sang in a community choir for more than a decade, could walk along a strip of rocky-ish beach, and meet up with friends for a delicious brunch at Red Twig.

After I announced my intention to leave it, one of my Twitch coworkers looked at me through narrowed eyes: “why would you blow up your life of 14 years?”

Because I’ve moved around enough times to know that a place is not a life — it’s an important part of one, but it’s not a forever-thing (rarely, anyway).

And yet I also understand the deep desire to be connected to a place — to be not only an expert, but a “native” (for lack of a better term). But I find this attempt to define one’s ties to geography through personal history limiting. Instead, I believe your connection with a place is best understood through your senses — how you soak in its sounds, smells, tastes, and sights.

This past weekend, San Francisco held its annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade, and the month prior, they celebrated the Lunar New Year, and in April, there will be the annual Cherry Blossom Festival. I love watching the preservation of the past in the present; the celebration of a “place” through the repetition of ritual, the sharing of food, and the performance of music. There is a delightful alchemy in being able to hold on to a history that is not directly your own through the memories of those who have lived it, and are trying to remember and capture it like a lucid dream.

But memory is fuzzy, its edges often softened by the fog of forgetfulness. And sometimes you think you are leaving a place, only to discover you’re trucking along with emotional baggage far heavier than any steam trunk. And it’s not until you get to the new place that you realize that to have gotten where you are, you had to have been where you were (to paraphrase Terry Pratchett).

For me, coming “back” to California has been this — an ever-unfolding origami of Me(g). As a Cal Poly college kid, I was a version of myself that was shiny, adventurous, and very comfortable in her own skin. Maybe it’s no surprise then that, after working at Twitch (including with more than a few Cal Poly alumni), I had that same warm, fuzzy feeling and wanted to immerse myself in it (the sunshine also helps). And now that that I have been here for a bit, I know that SF is not SLO, but it still feels like a homecoming.

I’m a “transplant,” yes, but my family ties to California are solid (albeit a bit circuitous). My parents are Yuba City, Sutter stock; they went to UC Santa Cruz; they honeymooned in Yosemite. I first visited Fisherman’s Wharf when I was nine (I was cold; I cried; Dad bought me a red pullover). I still have family in the state, and lovely friends ❤

So, concerning my colleague’s perplexed quandary — I don’t feel like I “blew up” my life by moving to the “City by the Bay” — if anything, I am rediscovering a part of my own history while stepping into the future. It’s all very timey-wimey.

SF Neighborhoods/Places Explored: The Town (Oakland – Temescal, Piedmont Ave); The Embarcadero

Soundtrack: Laufey (neo-bossa nova; I’m obsessed)

Bus + Bench Book: Where I Was From, Joan Didion (who inspired this post)

Lesson-Learned: You cannot serve from an empty cup, but it’s even worse to spill it all over someone else