Three Years In California (Almost)

It’s five forty three in the morning. The sun is starting to sneak into this apartment. The sound of cars running down the street is becoming more frequent. And there is a mockingbird in the tree across the road that’s been singing since four.

If I opened the sliding glass door to the balcony, my weather app tells me that I’d be letting in a nice cool draft from a sixty four degree morning. Cloudy and tepid, it won’t be long until the sunrise transforms into another blistering afternoon.

I could look outside and see, speckling the streets of Santa Ana, palm trees which were, at the beginning of my time here, exciting and new. But their novelty has worn off and I find myself enjoying the view (when I can find them) of the jacaranda and even the California eucalyptus.

California is not my home.

I thought that it could be. I thought that it would be. I wanted it to be.

When I moved from the Pacific Northwest almost three years ago I had my sights set on calling the golden coast mine. Like, if I really put to belonging, I could call this place my own.

But what I’ve learned is that there is a canyon between the words “home” and “residence.”

Don’t get me wrong. The things that I have found here are irreplaceable.

I have found hard lessons.

Self worth.

A woman I love.

And a friend in my sister.

But even for everything that I have learned. For everything I’ve lost and then found again. It’s become clear to me that my time in California temporary. It’s a nexus between who I was and who I’m stepping into.

It feels like three years ago I stepped off of a train and onto a platform.

I’ve been exploring the station. Taking in my surroundings. Reading magazines from kiosks. Learning what to avoid. Learning WHO to avoid. Learning who to pull closer. Making friends. Finding the bathroom. Places to eat and sleep.

But now I can hear another train rolling down the tracks in my direction. I can feel the ground shaking softly as it draws closer. And if I look really hard I can see, in one direction, smoke billowing from the engine. And in the other direction I can almost make out where that train is headed.

And I’m excited to get on board.