When I moved to Aspen, failure was not an option. Sure, I did the whole trying-it-out-for-a-month thing, but that was a trial run for what I knew was inevitable: that I was moving to Aspen with the Vermonster, who was living out a dream. So failure wasn’t an option so long as I wanted to be with the Vermonster.
By the time I had to make my own choices about staying or going, I had my friends, I had my adventures, I had my coffee and my table at the library and my yoga classes and my people … I had it dialed in. Of course I chose to stay, there was more life to live and more Aspen to explore.
When I chose to leave Aspen, it was difficult but in the end just felt right (I elaborate on making the choice over at DailyHap). Most days in Newport Beach, I wiggle my toes in the sand, look at my orange tree, trek to a job I love, explore new things, do CrossFit with some really cool people, nest, and am happy.
Other days, well, I wonder Can I Really Make It Here? When people at Costco don’t move their baskets out of the way even when I say EXCUSE ME really loudly but smile sweetly and they just stare at me blankly. When I’m at a dive bar with a new girl friend and not one mildly creepy old man comes over to talk to us—isn’t that what happens at dive bars? When cars don’t slow down to let you over on the freeway. When my football team isn’t what I hoped or dreamed. When I have to drive somewhere 4.4 miles from my office but it takes me 45 minutes without even getting lost in stop and go traffic on a SEVEN lane freeway. When I eat the candy sitting out at the office because I haven’t consistently been in an office setting since 2009 and forgot that you have to IGNORE that crap. When I meet native Californian after Californian who is rude or mean or stand-offish in some way and I think, I’m going to have to only be friends with imports*. When I hear about powder days in Aspen. When I pay my rent. When someone tells me, “Californians are really clique-y. Good luck.” When I start to think of somewhere an HOUR away as not that far. When I think about the amazing people I left behind.
Those are the times I’m not entirely sure I can really make it here.
I know it’s commonly considered hard to move somewhere new, particularly alone (with dog), sans friends. But let’s get real: it’s really fucking** hard.
Clearly, we have a theme: Let’s Get Real: Moving to a New Place Solo (Sometimes) Sucks.
And guess what, celebs? I don’t have any advice about it. I clearly will make it. I clearly will find friends and ways around traffic, will keep paying my bills and smiling at people even when they don’t smile back, will have my football talent recognized and my chocolate consumption under control.
Or I won’t. But either way, I’ll make it. At least until I don’t.
*disclaimer: I have met some genuinely nice, likeable native Californians. But as a whole, I have not been impressed with Californians. Being a native Texan and moving from Colorado, possibly two of the friendliest, most polite states in the Union, has not made it any easier.
**I try to limit my use of eff bombs on this blog to quoting other people, but it had to be done. Apologies to sensitive readers … although, you’ve probably long since bailed.