A few weeks ago, I anticipated writing something about the one year anniversary of my move to California. I had an opening line for a colorful intro. Of course, that was way before we were catapulted into this surreal state of pandemic.
But yes, it has been a year.
I contemplate a little, as I sit here at work, writing these words down because, contrary to my many nurse-friends in New York, I work in a department that is, sort of, sheltered from the front line. But this contrast, in itself, is what makes the one year unreal, surreal. Things and situations have changed. I have changed. People will change. From hereon, if not now.
When I packed my car a year and few days ago, I was both excited and fearful. Excited for the long trip that would take me from New Jersey to California. Fearful about what was going to happen on drive alone with Bess and Walmsley. Fearful for the unknown– some of which, I am still threading on at this time. But I managed to overcome or avert the danger associated with those long days of driving and I arrived in California in one piece.
I started working at Stanford 2 days after arriving in the Bay Area. I love my job and the little complexities associated with it are, well, little.
Little by little, step by step I settled.
In the one year that I’ve been here, I made quite a few friends, established rounded and loving relationships. However, one of the best achievements of all is having Mariska join me even if, for her, that meant being away from her friends and her father.
It was not an easy ride.
In fact, for those who actually are privy to my life, it is knowledge that I came here with only $700. How I managed to come out of that is miracle to me. It took a lot of prayers. And letting go. Both were the key.
I’d like to say that I am in a better place now. I have made peace in my heart, slowly, and trying to make peace with those that I have hurt, especially for having left a home shattered, a marriage broken. For having decided to leave a daughter you love so much just so you can save yourself from self-destructive behavior, from insanity.
It is not easy to learn to forgive yourself.
Once in a while, I still find myself thinking how I do not deserve a happy or, at the very least, peaceful ending because of all the pain I caused others. God, I still think part of what’s going on around us– this pandemic business– is the Universe’s way of telling me I fucked it up. But then again, I am not big. I am just this tiny little dot in the world that the universe doesn’t really give a shit about.
Then I circle back and think and breathe with ease knowing how far I’ve come to a better place. An oasis that I would not have imagined being had I not gone from the bottom with nothing.
Yes, it has been a year.
I learned to meditate and I am in a stable, loving relationship. With people. With the environment. I am able to breathe easier. And I am able to forgive and able to think this is not the end for humanity. That in a way, as surreal as the situation engulfing us right now, a happy, peaceful ending will come.
Run.Brownie.Run. 