It’s an odd sensation starting out in one home and 2400 miles later ending up in another. Two homes, one kid, and a lot of books. This was my first year living that bicoastal life, where suddenly a five hour flight seems like nothing and I’m finally, after a year, starting to remember the time change.
(Apologies to anyone in CA I’ve texted at 7am EST. I just get so excited to tell you all the things.)
This year in NYC has been amazing. I’ve launched products with Google, written more, learned how to dress for seasons, gotten another pair of snow boots, and conquered public transportation. My family finds it odd that despite me having a horrible sense of direction in LA (I got lost in our hometown going to breakfast this week), I seem to have a basic sense of north/south/nearest-dessert-joint in Brooklyn. But towards the end of the year, when everything was wrapping up and Fall became a blur of late night writing sessions, GenSex, and work, the burnout was very real. I was ready to come home.
So a week ago, the cats and I packed up and hit the airport. A note, when traveling with cats, security at airports will make you take them out of their carriers and walk them through security. For Fitz, not a problem, but for Hem … I have the battle wounds to prove it’s not her favorite.
^^ Me post airport security line. Such a glamorous slouch. Big thank you to the woman who gave me Neosporin following this picture. ^^
Every morning since I’ve being here, I’ve woken up with the intention of writing and 12 hours later, nothing. December was the first time in a while that I felt exhausted from writing. I wasn’t excited by the articles I was pitching, and the longer I stayed away from the keyboard, the harder it felt to come back.
But I’ve learned over the years that stepping back and taking a moment away is just as important as proactively moving forward. That after a week or so, some idea will be too good to pass up and suddenly, writing isn’t just my stress-inducing second income but something I voluntary choose to fill my free time with.
(Just got another ice tea, one of the best parts of being in Valencia is the endless tea supply. I think I’m actually shrinking from all the caffeine I’ve consumed in the last 8 days.)
For me, home never stops feeling like home. In every way that I’ve changed in New York, Valencia stays the same. Dinks still serves the best breakfast burritos, the teenage bros still hangout outside the movie theaters, and the quickest way to the mall on Black Friday is walking through the Paseo trails. I appreciate that my greatest concern each day is where I should go hiking and which Mel Brooks movie would pair best with the beer my dad has in the fridge. My home here makes me appreciate NYC more just as much as NYC makes me more thankful for Valencia.
^^ My last glance back at Brooklyn before heading back to the best coast. ^^
The cats have particularly made themselves at home, demanding that we eat more chicken and continuing to hold true to NYC time — which is great until 7am when they insist we get up every. single. morning.
This holiday season has been extra special because it’s the longest I’ve been home since I moved. A entire month in fact. This trip I don’t have to rush to see everyone or fill up every hour just to make it all work. I can embrace my hermit tendencies and every once in a while, pop my head up from a book, put on some jeans, and see the world. I’ve seen lots of family, eaten the golden ham that only blesses our plates once a year, visited Churro’s new home, harassed my grandma (my new fav is calling her Gram-ton Abbey after Downton Abbey), hiked with my parents, cuddled with cats, written long letters to friends, and today, diving back into yoga.
From one home to another, I’m so so happy.