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On a recent trip to Florida I spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to live there again. I miss Florida more than I ever thought I would. I miss having family and long standing friends close by.

I wanted to give myself another semester of classes and life in the city to really think things through before making a decision whether to stay or go. The lease on my apartment matures at the end of July and my lovely house mates are all going in different directions. The landlord was unwilling to extend the lease short term. Either we sign for another year or move. None of us want to be tied to a year lease and the crisis began.

What do I do??? Stay in the city and find a short term lease? Find random people to live here with me in the same flat?? Go home? Wait a semester to figure things out??

The more I thought about it the more it made sense to go home once the lease matures. I did not want to find random house mates. I also did not want to be tied to a legally binding document for a year. The thought of spending any more time feeling the way I do here made me anxious and uneasy. I knew in my heart that the decision had to be made and the situation with the lease catalyzed it all and set it in fast forward. I am moving home to Florida after my summer travels. My time is up here, its game over for now......

A year and a half ago I packed up my life and loaded it into a Honda Accord. All the clothes and books that would fit, 2 bikes on the rack, my beloved canine companion, and my dear friend Reese who volunteered to accompany me for the journey. We hit the road and headed 3,006 miles West in pursuit of my California dream.

Since I was a young child I wanted to move west. California had always captivated me. My desire to live somewhere more progressive, eco-conscious, liberal, socially aware, and beautiful lead me to the great city of San Francisco. When I came to visit in December 2009 I fell madly in love with the city. I knew instantly that it was a place I wanted to live. I decided without any doubts in my heart or mind that I wanted to move to San Francisco and start from scratch.

I wanted the challenge of moving somewhere completly unfamiliar and novel. I did not have a job, nor did I know ANYONE in the city. I was full of optimism, faith, hope, and determination. I built a community, met lots of wonderful people, made new friends, got involved in volunteer work, learned my way around, found work, attended college, moved with friends to a beautiful flat in my favorite neighborhood, lived without a car, learned the public transit lines, assimilated to the city culture, pursued a dream, experienced tremendous personal growth, and gained infinite wisdom. I cultivated what I call my "liberal life skills" that I will take with me wherever I go. I learned what is truly important to me, and what is not.

The beginning was a typical honeymoon stage. I was madly in love. It was bliss. It was so exciting and invigorating to have moved somewhere so new, so different, so far away from everyone and everything that I knew. Once the novelty wore off and reality settled in the challenges arose. I took them in stride and adjusted quite well. Homesickness slithered in. At first in short bursts, then in waves, and eventually it consumed me. Thoughts of family, old friends, warm weather, and nostalgia for the past engulfed my mind. I was physically in one place and emotionally elsewhere. It felt as if I was hollow.

The emptiness of living thousands of miles from loved ones crept in and took over. I continued going to networking events, out on dates, meeting people, volunteering, socializing, and putting myself out there. Albeit, the exhaustion of the struggles I faced having moved the way I did lead me to think about moving back to Florida. The new friendships I have made in this new place (though they are great) do not compare to the friendships I have at home, (many of them with over a decade of history).

Not enough friends in the world could ever fill the role of family. I found myself daydreaming and fantasizing about life in Florida in the same way I daydreamed and fantasized about life in California (while I was living in Florida). I envisioned myself at the beach with friends, having lunch with family on a whim, tan and warm, happy and relaxed. The irony of it made me laugh.

Such a decision is a difficult one to make. Picking up my life and moving it thousands of miles is not an easy task. I want to be sure it is the right decision to make. Though how do we ever know what the "right" decision is to make in our lives? How do we define what is "right" or "wrong" for our lives? On a recent trip home a friend advised me that a conversation, a moment, a feeling, an experience would unfold and make the decision clear.

Sure enough it happened. I was speaking with a dear friend of mine whose advice I highly respect. I sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom as we discussed my dilemma. She posed the question "Why are you in San Francisco?" I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I stared blankly for some time. "I can tell you why I moved here." But that was not the question. My friend reminded me the question was "Why do you live here?" It hung in the air, with a palpable heaviness. It was a profound moment of clarity. I could come up with dozens of reasons why I would live in Florida, but I could not come up with any concrete reasons for living in San Francisco.

It is sad and feels very much like a breakup. There are so many things I love about the city. There are many things I will miss (and many that I will not). I am not mad at San Francisco, I am not bitter. I still love the city very much. At this point in my life it just doesn't make sense. Timing is everything. Perhaps at another time in my life it will make more sense; when I have a great career with an income that allows me to go home regularly, or maybe when family members move to the west coast. For now the feelings of isolation and distance overshadow my life here. "The grass may be greener on the other side, but it still has to be mowed" Life is not prefect in any one place, its about how you feel.

I have been asking myself "Can a person who is very close with their family and friends be happy and content living on the opposite side of the country?" I believe the answer for me is "no."

So for now I bid thee farewell my lovely San Francisco. I love you, but right now you are not right for me and I have to let you go. You will forever be in my heart and on my arm.

Rain Rain Stay Away!

Day after day of awaking to the sound of rain pattering against my bedroom windows. Water falls from the sky without avail. After the eighth consecutive day I have lost count.

My polka dotted rubber rain boots are by far the best wardrobe purchase I have made since moving to the city. Armed with an umbrella, a rain jacket and rain boots Derby and I take our morning walk. My rain boots are impervious to the puddles, as we make our way through the cold windy rain. Derby's retriever coat repels the water like the feathers of a duck and it gathers in droplets decorating him until he decides to shake it all off. The smell of wet dog is all too familiar lately.

Under my breath I curse the weather- the rainy season is upon us. The old adage is true, and in this case "You can take the girl out of Florida, but you can't take Florida out of the girl" I think to myself how spoiled I am having grown up in South Florida where the sun shines about 364 days a year.

Weeks on end of constant rain with a dark, cloudy sky break for a day or so here and there and then weeks of rain again. It began to feel imprisoning and I wondered how much more I could take when at last the rain ceased to fall! The clouds parted and the sun came out. It felt like an eternity since the last time I saw that glorious orange ball of fire. People came out of the woodwork and filled the parks and city streets, basking in the sun, embracing the weather and truly appreciating it after having spent so much time in the rain.

The mid day golden sunlight is illuminating. The plants, trees, and grass are a luscious shade of green. Wild flowers, California Poppies, and fields of clovers have pushed their way through the soil. The wind blows gently and a cascade of leaves flows across a diagonal. It looks like someone shook a snow globe as the breeze carries the leaves. It is a beautiful spring day warm and crisp, sunny and bright. The birds sing a cheerful song welcoming the highly anticipated spring weather.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!

A year has passed since I moved to San Francisco. Feb 1st marked the 365th day I have been a resident of this magnificent city! There are moments where it feels like a long time ago that I unpacked the car from my 3,000 mile journey. I moved here in pursuit of happiness. I was chasing my long time dream of moving west to the mecca of liberal progression. Life in California is all that I dreamed of and more.

When I came to visit I fell instantly and madly in love with San Francisco. I knew it was where I am supposed to be with absolute certainty. I moved here without knowing ANYONE and without a job. All I had was my faithful canine companion, Derby, and a lot of hope.

I faced many trying moments. The city tested me. Many times she asked "are you sure you want to be here young suburban girl?" And each time I answered her, "YES I am sure I want to be here" Brushing myself off after each fall and adjusting to the many changes I faced in moving to an unfamiliar city far away from friends, family, and everything I knew. I spent 26 years in Florida and it was time to move on. It was time to start a new chapter in my life and re-create myself.

I have since built a community and an expanding circle of friends. I can confidently navigate my way around the city (most of the time), and I feel at home here. I have assimilated to the city culture. I have become a San Francisco cliche and I like it! I walk Derby through golden gate park in the mornings while drinking my home made kale, hemp seed shake out of a mason jar, "epic" and "no worries" have become a part of my daily vocabulary, I walk and bike as a main form of transportation, I refer to places that do not recycle and compost as "the stone age", I can parallel park into the smallest spaces like a professional, I know the schedule of all the open air farmers markets, I have the number for the train schedule predictor programmed into my phone, I am a card carrying member of the bike coalition, and my concept of what is "weird" has been pushed to a whole new level. It is wonderful to live somewhere so beautiful, liberal, and progressive; somewhere I really fit in.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY San Francisco! It has been a year and I can honestly say I am more in love every day!

Out the back door of my flat. I walk down the creaky wooden stairs to the basement. My bicycle awaits. It is hanging on the wall mounted rack amongst the other tenants' bikes. Everyone in San Francisco has at least one bike and the basement of my building is proof of that!

I roll up my right pant leg (to ride without interference of the bike chain), put my helmet on and clip the chin strap.

Pedaling through town on my vintage Japanese road bike circa 1970. I admire the city as I spin through her busy streets.
Cars and bikes glide in unison. The bike culture here is prominent, with a bike coalition membership of over 12,000 people (myself included)! I am a true San Francisco dweller, using my bike as a main form of transportation.

I propel myself forward, eyes closed for just a moment to really feel the sun on my skin and cool breeze on my face. I back pedal to hear the whirring sound that takes me back to childhood memories. The nostalgia brings a smile to my face.

Approaching my route to downtown I gently clutch the brakes to slow and cross an intersection. Ahead lies a cluster of light rail tracks carved into the asphalt. A maze of multiple rail tracks overlap and intertwine. Fellow bikers have proclaimed warning of this area known for accidents. "Be sure to cross the tracks perpendicular with your tires, and very carefully!" they said. I had brushed off the cautions not having fully understood the significance of this advice.

Sure enough as I turned to look over my shoulder and slowly cross the street, the voice in my head replayed that advice. It was too late. I felt the thump of my bike tire as it slide directly into the narrow rail track crevice. My bike jolted and catapulted me forward. Bucking me off instantly in what felt like slow motion at the same time. I came colliding down and my body met the pavement. Skin scraping across the rough surface, I slid until the forces ceased and my bike came crashing down on me, pedals still spinning, my bike lock went flying. Laying there disoriented, I heard the light rail approaching. The train's breaks screeched loudly and the conductor honked at me. I was directly in front of the train and in the way.

A passer by came to my aid and picked up the lock, peeled the bike off me, and helped me to my feet. I sat on the side walk assessing the damage. A cracked helmet, scraped chin, hands, palms, wrist, knee, foot, and elbow. Bright red blood gushing from various places, and bruises surely to come. The worst of the battle wounds was the hockey puck size scrape above my elbow. Blood dripped down my arm. In the city people say there are two types of bikers: ones that have fallen, and ones that will fall.

I wear the scar of San Francisco, forever on my arm, like a tattoo.