Not Me

I don't even have a cubicle. I have a small little office with two windows, with spectacular views of the Jemez Mountains, if I move my balance ball to just the right place. If I close my door, I can pretend I'm not there, even in the middle of the work day. Those of us in the building refer to it as the "country club life."

But it's still not me.

So I gave it all up for yet another internship and an amazing $1000 a month on which to live. In San Francisco. (Although the government is graciously providing me with free housing.) I get to spend time out in the field with researchers, often in Point Reyes, and when I'm in the office writing, I will be yards from a beach with fantastic surfing and kayaking opportunities. Guess I'll have to learn the former.

nps.gov

As I'm writing this, I'm thinking about all the people who have judged me, silently or verbally, for moving to California, and to the Bay Area no less. And I'm starting to get defensive. But I don't need to defend myself. They think I'm young and naive, or they know I won't like it there, or they think I can't afford it. So what. If it doesn't work out, I guess I'll just leave! It's a shocking attitude, I suppose, to life-long government workers.

I am still young, and I want to have some fun. At this moment in my life, I don't need or want a house, a baby, or any responsibility, really. A husband is about all I can handle.

I've been to San Francisco only twice before, and my husband once - on our honeymoon. But we both love it. For years I've thought about living there, only to think, as it is ingrained, that there is no way I could afford such a thing. But why not give it a whirl?

This blog is here to document my attempt.