The deed is done. The movers drove up yesterday in an 80 foot truck, the kind you see in your rear view mirror barreling down the freeway and decide to merge into the right hand lane quick. Warren and Richard stormed through my boxes, wrapped furniture in pads, placed inventory stickers on everything and drove to my storage unit to reclaim several bookshelves and a walking stick that had been languishing there for years. I returned to a condo that had been stripped of its wall coverings and sat gripping my iPad where I played “Temple Run” for the thousandth time, leaping over tree roots, dodging fire bridges and collecting golden coins with a sweep of my finger.
Each time I get eaten by nasty meanies, I promise myself that I am going to play only one more game, but in the aftermath of the move, I find myself returning again and again, convinced that the next time I will be able to avoid an ignominious death until several hours later I find myself prying the iPad from my hands and placing it down on the table.
Moving at my age is no small thing especially when it is clear across the country to a place where everyone looks in wonderment and asks, “Why are you leaving the Bay Area?” as though I am a deranged or misguided, a question that forces me to revisit for the thousandth time my own motives for making this giant leap, as if I am some foolish romantic who should be looking for a job instead of love, who has decided to end what has been a virtual relationship and go for the physical one, assuming that a natural progression connects one to the another. Have I not fallen down enough times to be able to anticipate a situation with “pitfall” written all over it? Do I not know myself well enough to anticipate boredom come high noon? I have thought about this over and over and despite my misgivings, I’ve never wanted to turn back. The deed is done The path is clear. Adventure looms.