A Case of Cold Feet

I've got a case of cold feet. 

Which is a funny phrase when you consider it, 

because I actually feel really hot and a little bit itchy and all the time sweaty these days. 

I'm confused and not sure about anything anymore.

  I thought I knew what I wanted to do.

But now I'm really not so certain. 

I came out west at a time when I was craving adventure,

longing for change,

and dreaming of a shift in pace and scenery.

San Francisco, cool as ever, 

kind of tossed these things my way, real casual and nonchalant.

Well I took the bait.

image is my own; Big Sur

And all of a sudden I feel an overwhelming

desire to live out a life of Hemingway and Kerouac proportion adventure. 

I keep getting all choked up and panicky

and on top of picking away nearly all of my left eyebrow,

I've developed a habit of scratching at an itch that doesn't even exist on my neck.

If I'm being honest,

I'd say I'm about 50/50 moving forward with this move right now.

The trouble is, it's already been decided upon.

But... I have yet to sign that transfer paper due weeks ago.

Just like a compass that has lost it's way,

my head and my heart both went kind of cloudy. 

They're trying so hard-

 to tap back into that magnetic pull,

and find a way home.

xo

Summer’s End, and a Milestone

Mother Nature graced us with a fairly fogless summer in San Francisco; 

a real treat for those of us who savor the sun.

I was traveling more this summer than in those past, 

and that may explain why I feel like the season came and went in a snap.

I journeyed to the quiet of the mountains and dove into shockingly icy lakes.

I conquered one of the most intimidating climbs; 

 during which, my legs felt like jell-o and my mind wasn’t so certain, 

but with the encouragement from friends we crowned ourselves Half Dome Heroes,

taking in the panorama of Yosemite from what felt like the top of the world.

I hosted my little sister’s first trip to the shining seas of the Pacific.

Having her here granted me the gift of seeing my city through fresh eyes; 

it was darn near perfect.

I met friends in Southern California, 

here we ate seafood plucked straight from the ocean at which we gazed. 

We goofed around and reverted back to behavior from our collegiate days- 

a time in our lives which feels too far away in the past to be true.

Independence day brought me back to the mountains that now have taken permanent residence in my heart. 

We boated and basked and made questionable choices

but those after all, almost always result in the most fun. 

Dance-offs were danced, love was professed, speeches were made, adventures were had. 

image is my own

And then came the celebrations! 

Two summer weddings, one on the New England coastline, 

and the other nestled in the heart of Wine Country.

 I felt so lucky to play witness to joyful, blissful love.

Another guest came west in all her glowing glory. 

We dined like queens and drank like Kings. 

Together we marveled at the beauty of Northern California’s rolling vineyards.

And now, here we are. 

It’s been a goofy final month of summer: full of peaks and pits, chaos and calm.

There are many unknowns and even more ‘unsaids,’ 

some of which are up to me, but others, to the universe.

I’m closing out the summer with a few celebrations of my own. 

 I’m turning thirty.

And while I anticipated feeling a certain way about the milestone,  

 I actually don’t feel that way at all. 

And here’s the secret:

I look back on all the things that I’ve done and all the sites that I’ve seen. 

All the places I’ve gone, and the company that I've kept.

I think of the friends and family that have traveled across the country.

 And the friends that are right here in California,

who turn ordinary days into extraordinary.

I am blessed and humbled and incredibly grateful for the summer outlined above. 

To me, it reads like a great book...and I can’t believe it’s my great life.

Thank you all,  for making it so.

Here’s to thirty!

xo

A Little on My Mind, as of Late

My plane touched down last night to a calm and quiet California coastline.

I love the drive from the airport back home in the still of the night.

Even on the highway you can hear the waves of the bay lapping up against the rocks.

Paradoxically, the ride from Manhattan out to the airport leaves me feeling very blue.

 I usually spend this trip staring silently out the window,

 watching the city on my right shrink smaller and smaller against the skyline.

It’s like saying goodbye to someone you love, with no set plans to reunite- the worst kind of heartache.

Last night, it felt tremendous to turn the key, push open the door, and walk back into my apartment.

By the week’s end in New York, I was ready to come home.

(West Coast home Dad, if you’re reading this.)

I slept the entire flight- and actually most of the cab ride to JFK-both very rare occurrences for me.

I guess after a week back east there was no more party in me, and I succumbed to a still and quiet slumber.

In books and in movies people often struggle with the notion of loving two people at once.

But sometimes...sometimes I ask myself,

‘Is it possible? Is it possible to love two places at once?’

 ‘Does one’s heart have the capacity? The depth and the space to accommodate such devotion?’

Whenever I leave New York I feel a pit in my belly, like I swallowed a stone.

I feel like stammering out of the cab window,

‘It’s not you, New York! You did nothing, nothing wrong.

 It’s me! I’m all mixed up inside. Please, please don’t forget me.’

And steady as she is, New York opens her arms and embraces me-- each and every return trip I make.

No judgments.

No questions.

 Just a fond and understanding hug.

I am grateful for the patience and affection.

But sometimes it fuels my guilt for leaving.

 

image unknown 

While New York is like the old love that will always take me back;

San Francisco seems to be the city I just can’t seem to shake.

Bennett croons he left his heart here, and I think mine is very much understanding the appeal.

Life out West is a perpetual Never Never Land.

 It’s a cool older brother and ‘the one’ you hope never gets away.

It’s James Franco and a dream.

San Francisco and me?

We’re having a grand old time, coasting along and hand plucking adventures,

just as one chooses oysters a la carte.

The things I’ve accomplished in my life that I am most proud of?

Well, those have happened here, mostly.

That’s quite a mighty confession, I know.

I’ve done a lot of growing up. Conquered a lot of fears.

Plus, it smells really, really good here.

Like juniper and eucalyptus and honeysuckle all the time.

So I don’t know.

I’m either a really good candidate, or not cracked up at all, for love affairs.

Because this here and there mumbo jumbo can take quite a toll on this crimson heart of mine.

Maybe  one day, on one coast, the romance will fizzle,

but until then…

A life in love and limbo is what I lead.

xo