I Left My Heart In San Luis Obispo

There is something that has been on my mind constantly lately, and that is this: I miss my friends.

It finally hit my the other day, this whole moving thing. Bill and I were driving back from whoknowswhat – probably another errand-running excursion battling the make-your-move-as-difficult-as-possible powers that be – and it happened. It was thunderstorming outside yet again, as Florida is want to do every day during the summer, and Bill just looked over at me. He could tell something was going on, so he asked if I was okay, which is great, and I just sort of… lost it. For the first time since we moved in (not counting the roadtrip when I was a fairly impressive mess), I cried. About everything. In fact, I think my answer to Bill’s question went something like this:

“Nooooo *SNIFF* I’m not okay *SNIFF* I miss my family *SNIFF SNIFF* and my friendssssss *SNIFF* and San Luis Obispoooo *GASP FOR AIR* and I want to go HOME.”

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Up until the last few days, I’ve felt like I’ve been on extended vacation. I’ve been working hard searching for and applying to jobs at the local colleges, and setting up a whole new house takes a lot of time and effort, but I’ve still been able to do it at my own pace. The beaches are unparalleled, the drinks are delicious, and I haven’t been cold in four weeks. Bill and I explored our first weekend here, Jen was here the second, and we went to Miami for our first anniversary the third. But with no upcoming plans this weekend, which means the glaring reality that I really don’t know a soul in Fort Myers and the fact that I haven’t seen my girls in close to a month, it’s been hard not to dwell on how much I miss them. I am so grateful for the many phone conversations I’ve been able to have, but there is something so much better about popping champagne and settling in for a movie with Danae, or getting ready and going out to Giuseppe’s with Courtney and Katie and Katherine, or watching the hubby’s play basketball while screaming and stomping and tearing my hair out with Lina, or sneaking a quick gossip in at work with Taylor and Laura, or having Paso wine excursions disguised as doggie playdates with Kristin, or doing The Barre Method DVD in Katie’s living room before salad-barring it up at New Frontiers. I would give anything to transport myself at this very moment to happy hour at the Cliffs with my beautiful friends and a beautiful margarita and a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean ten minutes from my house. But the reality is I can’t, and that’s the hard truth.

Wow, even typing that just now was a tough pill to swallow.

So what can I do to soothe the pain of being 3000 miles away from my wonderful former life in San Luis Obispo? I can return to an agreement I made with Danae as we hugged goodbye outside my house at 7 a.m. on June 26th and the tears started to fall even though we said they wouldn’t. I will deeply appreciate the time we had, and I will be grateful that it was given to me in the first place to hold in my heart for the rest of my life. 

Because if we hadn’t decided to embark on this amazing adventure to follow Bill’s dreams (and okay yes, mine too since he, of course, is one of my dreams) to the other side of the country, I wouldn’t have memories like our going away party, where so many people we know and love came to Luna Red, my favorite place in the entire world, to be together one last time. This amazing memory and the pictures that came with it are the warm teddy bear I hold when my heart starts to hurt too much. 
IMG_5590 IMG_5593IMG_5588IMG_5591 IMG_5589And here is my favorite. My loves from so many different areas of my life in California, all together in front of the Mission. In my eyes, this is perfection.IMG_5587And so here I sit on the same couch with the same rug under my feet and my fingers tap-tapping away on my same old computer while Bill and Indy nap next to me in a very different townhouse in a very, very different city. Each tear that rolls down my cheek every few seconds or so is a new one, but my heart gets bigger and bigger with the same love I felt one month ago today. And although I am 3000 miles away, I hope you can all feel how much I miss you… all the way from over here.

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One Year Down

We made it!

One year ago today, Bill and I tied the knot with no idea what was in store for us. The year has been one of surprises, of bobbing and weaving, of taking hard left turns when we expected the straight road in front of us. Last year at Greengate Ranch in San Luis Obispo, we had no idea that we would go through eye surgeries, new jobs, a cross-country move, and saying goodbye to best friends to set out on our own new adventure. We have some amazing times, we’ve had some rough patches, and I know it sounds cheesy, but given the chance to do it all over again… I would. In a heartbeat.

So while we are living it up on an anniversary trip to Miami, here is a little video from our wedding put together by our photographers (and I’m so lucky they are also my brother and sister-in-law) Dusty and Amy from Drozian Photoworks.

In a heartbeat.

Florida Bound Day 5: The Long Haul

Early Monday morning, we punched our destination into the GPS as we pulled out from the curb in front of the Olivier House in New Orleans, and this is what we saw:IMG_5634

Oof.

791 miles. 12 hours and 13 minutes. But we knew it had to be done. We had gotten a call along our way across the country that we had been worrying about the wrong problem when it came to the movers. We were originally told it may take up to two weeks to get our stuff to the new house, which was a little worrisome in itself, until we heard that the driver they had scheduled had been taken off the job for some reason and they needed to find a new one. This meant that they picked up our furniture and boxes on moving day and unloaded it into storage that afternoon, unsure of when a new driver was even going to commit. Well, at that point, slightly unnerved that the movers had a few more chances to break our stuff, we were but thankful and even more frustrated when the company called to let us know a driver would be taking off on that next day – Tuesday – and that if he had known he would have just come straight to our house the day before. So that’s what we had been concerned about so far: when on Earth were our belongings going to make it to Florida? So then it turns out that the day the movers would arrive to help us move into our home was not going to be July 2nd like we had estimated. It would be July 1st instead, at 8 a.m., a full five and a half hours before we had even scheduled our meeting with the property manager to pick up the keys. Cue panic.

So this was to be our final day, in which we thought we would most definitely drive in the most extreme sense of the word, yes, but at least be able to see places like Mobile, Alabama, along the way. Nope. These pictures pretty much capture the extent of the highlights.

First, the Mississippi state line.IMG_5682Next, we did get our lunch in Mobile, but it was quick and inhaled on a smelly sidewalk in a much too quiet part of town. Indy, however, fully enjoyed her break in the park near the restuarant, with more squirrels to chase than she had surely ever seen in her wimpery little dog dreams.IMG_5684Even back in the confines of our car we were unable to get her attention. Bill’s (stolen, AHEM) pink sunglasses couldn’t take her eyes off the rodent wonderland just beyond the windshield.IMG_5685Until, of course, it was time to lose them both yet again. It was a long day and obviously time for a nap, damnit, squished by pillows or not.IMG_5683We found a little salvation at the sight of the Florida Welcome Center. That salvation was short lived, as it was hotter than hell outside the car. But we made it to the state at least, after four and a half intense days of traveling. Pretty momentous for our relationship if you ask me.20140630-123845-45525704.jpgAnd just for good measure, here’s a second look in case you missed just how important our new governor is.IMG_5687 After a brief celebration, we didn’t see much but highway and lush greenery as we sped through Tallahassee and finally got off of the 10, taking a sharp and much anticipated turn south onto the 75. We didn’t see much until… Florida SunsetHoly moly, THAT is a sunset.

Ultimately, we didn’t quite make it to Fort Myers, more because we didn’t have a house to sleep in and we wanted to see our new city in the morning light. We definitely were tired and broke enough to book the cheapest motel we could find, which also turned out to be the seediest motel we could find. From the weird guy quite obviously on drugs talking to himself outside the lobby just before jumping in his car and speeding through the red light at the intersection to the stained towels and dirty floor and beds I was literally afraid to sleep in for fear of contracting diseases, it was quite the luxury. Luckily, to quell the pain of certain contamination, we had Chicken McNuggets and a working microwave. It had to happen at some point.Florida Hotel RoomTomorrow our trip of a lifetime comes to an end, and a brand new chapter begins. But until then, sweet dreams Bill, Indy, and seedy motel room. I will cherish our 6 short hours together.

The Life of a News Wife

So this is what it feels like.

In a post that went up a little while ago, I wrote that Bill and I were staring down the barrels of two vastly different paths, and each requires some major life changes in the form of a hard, massive, aneurysm-inducing decision. And then I didn’t tell you a thing about what I was talking about, like a big jerk. Well, I finally have permission to announce that we have in fact pulled the trigger, there are some major life changes underway, and I actually am about this close to have an aneurysm.

In five days, Bill and I are moving to Florida.

Yes, you read that right. FLORIDA. Just about as far as you can get from my lifelong home – my beautiful Golden State of California – without leaving the United States. It is exactly 2846 miles – or a 42-hour drive (39 with no traffic) from our home in San Luis Obispo, CA, to the front door of our new townhouse in Fort Myers, FL. That is so ridiculously far that I simply cannot handle it.

It has been a long while since I’ve posted something on this little heart-of-my-heart blog of mine, and that is because the process has been overwhelming, exciting, stressful, and exhausting.  It has been so hard for me to sit down and gather my thoughts enough to write anything coherent, and I’m pretty sure that I still can’t so bear with me. We also made the decision not to share until contracts were signed and everything was officially official, which was excruciating for me. There is nothing I wanted more than to fill you in, but I couldn’t. So here we are now, and I’m probably smacking you in the face with this news in exactly the same way I was smacked in the face two months ago.

When I chose to marry Bill, I knew that I was choosing more than just a partner in life, but a specific lifestyle as well, and one that was very different from anything and everything I’d ever known. The lifestyle of someone working in news has its glamorous side, which most of you probably recognize. Being a “local celebrity” as people often put it, people saying “hi” on the street, never having a dull day at work, the perks that come with it, and the like. These are all great, and Bill handles each of these so humbly and kindly that my face nearly falls off just watching him sometimes. However, there is a side of the business that not many realize, and that is the nomadic nature of moving up and being successful as a journalist. When Bill and I first met, I wasn’t too aware of this commitment to this imminent upheaval. I was, however, committed to him from the start, and I soon found out that he was to me as well. Going way back to one of our first dates, I divulged a secret. I told him that even though I had just started my job at the station where we both worked, I had recently been accepted to grad school and had made the decision to go. I was so nervous about telling him, mostly because I worried for the security of my paycheck for the rest of the summer and the possibility of severely disappointing my new boss, who took me under her wing and called me her little protege. What I didn’t realize until he told me later in our relationship was that my committing to a two-year grad program could have also meant I might lose Bill, squashing any dreams of marrying the hunk of a man sitting across from me. That was because the end of his first two-year contract was fast approaching, and he had just recently gotten his reel and his resume together to fly off to the next opportunity. Luckily, I didn’t lose him, and he chose to quit his job search and re-sign a new contract for another two years, allowing us to date and eventually get engaged while I finish my grad program.

Within three months of meeting, Bill took me home to Minnesota to meet his family and attend a college teammate’s wedding. It was an incredible whirlwind of a trip, but I will always remember a specific conversation we had while he drove me to the airport to catch my flight back to California. (I was leaving a few days earlier than he was for work.) After such a crazy weekend, we finally had a moment to ourselves, and Bill took the chance to address a giant elephant in the backseat of the car on that Minneapolis freeway. He explained that his business came with interesting circumstances: the promise of relocating with no promise of where. Basically, an agent, if you are lucky enough to have one, manages the job search, blasting out feelers and resume tapes all across the country, incessantly checking openings and communicating with potential landing pads. If the materials catch a station’s eye, the correspondence begins, the journalist is flown out, negotiations get underway, and – BOOM – new station, new city, new life.

As a career counselor currently working in the liberal arts, I knew this, and I explain this process to many, many students in the journalism department at my university. “It’s a difficult business. You have to work your way up from station to station. You may have to take a job in an obscure market and live in a small town for awhile to build up your experience.” It’s a fact of life. I lay it out, no fluff. In fact, Bill and I have always joked about Bangor-freaking-Maine, as the place we could end up, settle down, and live forever until we died in our sleep of old age in that god-forsaken New England town. (I apologize to anyone in Bangor, Maine. I have never been there nor known when to take my foot out of my mouth.) However, despite all this unemotional real talk, it is another beast entirely to live it. Enter into our lives Fort Myers, which I had no idea existed until about two months ago.

It’s such a strange thing, to have someone else take control of the job search, if you can even call it that, as it really should be called more of a “job wait”. Once Bill got his reel and his resume together (with a little help from his personal career counselor), he simply sent them off to his agent in Chicago. After a few edits, he continued to chug along at his current gig, sometimes going weeks without talking to the big man in Chi-Town. Then all of a sudden, things changed. Quickly. Too quickly. So quickly that almost two months later, I’m still not sure what’s happening. It was as if Bill was a fish, swimming through silent water filled with fishing lines and hooks ominously hanging still all around him. Every once in a while, one would twitch slightly, causing panic but ultimately being dubbed a false alarm. Then, in the eerie quiet while Bill and I were looking left at the hook at the end of the line from, say, Minneapolis or Las Vegas, one snapped into his gills from the right and shot us both up and out of the water into a strange foreign world, where the sun was too bright and we didn’t know how to breathe the air and the noises were deafening compared to peace below the surface.

“Where in the hell is Fort Myers, Florida?” was likely my verbatim answer, the only possible deviation being the choice of expletive I used.

So fast forward a few weeks, and here we are. Bill flew out on his own and spent two quick nights there, mostly with the station. These days were agonizing for me, as his “interview” and “orientation”, for lack of better words, lasted 13 hours without a chance to call and update his poor little bird of a wife at home. Drawing up an offer seemed to take weeks, but when it landed in Bill’s hands it was all happening way to fast. We deliberated and anguished and lamented and marinated in this crazy idea, letting our imaginations run wild with the infinite possibilities (him) and the imminent crumblings of all that is good and holy in this world (me). We talked about our life plans for careers and a family. We hashed out logistics for three grueling hours at a time. We created pros and cons lists and talked to our parents and lost sleep. I rattled on about alligators and hurricanes and humidity and nile monitor lizards eating our dog and giant-ass bugs flying into my newly frizzy and unmanageable mess of hair. We almost made a decision, and then we didn’t. We got close to saying the words, but they got stuck in our throats. One day we knew we had to go, and the next we were sure we couldn’t. And then one morning before Bill went to work, he addressed what we had discussed so many times before: that the news business can be inconducive to having a family and a home and a steady and secure life. We knew this. While some of his colleagues had made it work through the flexibility and willingness of their spouses and others simply love their careers too much to be anything but truly happy, many of our other journalist friends had faced the difficult music in this area, and we had heard their regrets firsthand. Bill confessed that he saw his soon-to-be-expiring contract as an opportunity to get out of the business, to settle in San Luis Obispo, and to allow me to shine in my dream job, and honestly, a HUGE part of me wanted that more than anything. However, part of my very nature – and one of the reasons I love my job so much – is that I can fully see the light in someone’s eyes and feel the heat radiating from the fire in their bones when their work and their passions are one in the same. It was clear that one of the most vibrant examples of this was staring me in the face with his big, beautiful blue eyes. Bill had wanted this career since the day he came out of the womb, and I knew what I had to do. “You’re right, this might be a great opportunity to get out of the business. But look at us. I have my master’s degree, you’re done with your job, we don’t have kids. There’s nothing holding us back. Maybe this is the time to lean in, to really give this business a shot, and to take this opportunity. This doesn’t happen every day, and maybe we can’t let this slip away.” I didn’t want Bill to spend the rest of his life wondering “what if?” and regretting his decision or resenting me. The next morning I sat on the edge of the bed just after Bill had woken up, swallowed hard, and said, “Let’s go to Florida.” And then we cried.

So here we are, five days from moving day. Our house is utter chaos, and our belongings have been reduced to brown boxes. Goodbye parties have happened (with a few more on the horizon), and I’ve seen some people that I love nearly and dearly for the last time for what could potentially be a very long time. I have two days left at work before I leave a job and an office that have felt more like a dream and a family than work. We have a site unseen townhouse waiting for us in a gated community we don’t know in a city I’ve never been to. I have panicked and sobbed and grieved in sadness, and I have laughed and squealed and hugged in hope.

I do have pictures and tips and ridiculous anecdotes from the journey so far, but for some reason, this doesn’t seem like the time to include those. Thank you for letting me share this with you, and I hope you know that writing this and sharing this has helped me immensely, knowing that some of you are in this with me. Please know that you are invited to follow along on our adventure of a lifetime, from the roadtrip across the southern United States to the new house to the amazing new friends and opportunities we are about to find in our tropical paradise. And even though I waver between wondering what the hell we have gotten ourselves into and feeling the thrill of an uncertain future, one thing is for sure: we’re doing this.

This is the life of a news wife.