The very beginning
I just got back last night from my third trip to the Bay Area this year. I keep sneaking in little reconnaissance missions to gather intel of sorts, but mainly just to wander around and see whether San Fran and its environs have enough of those weird intangibles to ultimately convince me that I should make it my home. So far, as with practically every large decision I have made in my life, there is no clear answer in sight.
Despite the fact that I have CA in my blood (I was born in Goleta and made lots of parental visitation trips to Santa Barbara throughout my childhood), as a state it's always kind of creeped me out. I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago surrounded by snarky Republicans that play lots of paddle tennis, so California's heady mix of natural disasters, hot tubs and slack-jawed hedonism always seemed unsettling at best, terrifying at worst. As a little kid used to plains and prairieland, I was freaked out by mountains and cliffs, and clawed the armrest as my dad negotiated the curves on Lombard Street. My California relatives seemed strange and exotic - they drove incredibly fast and had citrus fruits falling from the trees in their backyards.
But now I'm 26, and after spending four years in Seattle and one more in Chicago, I'm starting to heed the call of the California sirens. Don't get me wrong; I love Chicago for its grit, its cultural diversity and its wonderful Midwestern warmth, but I have this pesky little urge. You see, I've just finished my Master's in English, and I have a gap year before I (hopefully) start a doctoral program. So, I want to spend this supremely precious time living and working in wine country to find out whether my culinary leanings are just a hobby, or whether they will form the basis of a Lifelong Passion, a Calling, or whatever you want to call it (frankly, those terms make me want to hurl). You have to give this stuff a shot, right? Otherwise you might just end up working as Employee #145566 in a cubicle at Microsoft, and your life will be one long straight shot towards the grave. I should know, because I've done that too.
Despite the fact that I have CA in my blood (I was born in Goleta and made lots of parental visitation trips to Santa Barbara throughout my childhood), as a state it's always kind of creeped me out. I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago surrounded by snarky Republicans that play lots of paddle tennis, so California's heady mix of natural disasters, hot tubs and slack-jawed hedonism always seemed unsettling at best, terrifying at worst. As a little kid used to plains and prairieland, I was freaked out by mountains and cliffs, and clawed the armrest as my dad negotiated the curves on Lombard Street. My California relatives seemed strange and exotic - they drove incredibly fast and had citrus fruits falling from the trees in their backyards.
But now I'm 26, and after spending four years in Seattle and one more in Chicago, I'm starting to heed the call of the California sirens. Don't get me wrong; I love Chicago for its grit, its cultural diversity and its wonderful Midwestern warmth, but I have this pesky little urge. You see, I've just finished my Master's in English, and I have a gap year before I (hopefully) start a doctoral program. So, I want to spend this supremely precious time living and working in wine country to find out whether my culinary leanings are just a hobby, or whether they will form the basis of a Lifelong Passion, a Calling, or whatever you want to call it (frankly, those terms make me want to hurl). You have to give this stuff a shot, right? Otherwise you might just end up working as Employee #145566 in a cubicle at Microsoft, and your life will be one long straight shot towards the grave. I should know, because I've done that too.
posted by cindym at 4:01 PM
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