let me into the fire, gosh darn it

Boise has a large population of Californians who moved here for the clean living, friendly people, hill and mountain access, and burgeoning cultural scene. They sell their 1,100 square foot homes near the beach for a million dollars, then come here and buy 6,000 square foot luxury estates on an acreage lot with a view (thanks for currently employing me, folks). They increase the number of salons in the area, make me feel a little less attractive, and speed up the pace of traffic on our freeways, but other than that, the Californians are welcome editions to our city. "I got out of the fire just in time," they often say in reference to their old coastal home.

I nod in agreement, but here's my little secret...

I want to run into the fire.

I guess because I don't see it as fire. And because I've always seemed to be doing the opposite of what everyone else is.

Frankly, life has been trying to pull me to California since 1991 when I first met a young man from there whom I wrote to for two years while he was on his mission for our church. After he got home and I started college, we almost got married, but one of the big reasons it didn't work out was because marriage meant living in California. He didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go. And so we went our separate ways in late 1993.

How ironic that 15 years later I should end up divorced and dating Haute Cakes who lived just miles from previous guys home (he never did leave). And after Haute Cakes, that I should decide I didn't like anyone better than Mr. Perfect...who lived in the exact same Orange County area (and not for lack of looking around here, mind you).

There have been other indications, too, rather divinely given, that I belong there. Besides, I just love it. Some of the best people I have ever had the privilege of knowing have been from Southern California. They feel like 'my kinda people.' I love the idea of being able to go outside all year, the beach, the sound of Disneyland fireworks, a creative and entrepreunerial-driven culture for my kids to grow up in. The minute I turned down my MFA acceptance--that thing I thought I wanted more than anything-- the first impression that hit my heart was, "You're supposed to get to California, silly."

Not that I don't adore where I live right now--I grew up here. It's beautiful and it's all I've ever known, I have gracious and wonderful friends and employers, and heaven knows I've carved out a pretty sweet place for myself socially and professionally, but I still feel like a move is in our future. A way to pick ourselves up and put ourselves in a new, challenging situation rather than sitting here having them forced upon us, like it or not, as has been thus far. Besides, all great writers, at one time or another, generally GO somewhere else to become great, right? (UC Irvine DOES have Ron Carlson...)

Brad is on our side, too. He says he will move with us or at least not stand in the way of our moving. (Hopefully the first, albeit rather bittersweet considering if he'd just done that three years ago things would be very different now, though I can't complain because I really do believe everything turns out just as it should. And, seeing as how Haute Cakes just got married...it really does. End tangent).

Even if it's just for a few months or a year, the boy squad and I are all up for the adventure. Now, the trick is just GETTING THERE ALREADY.

Since June, I have applied for upwards of 300 jobs in Orange County. At first, they were only creative, challenging jobs I thought I would enjoy and be good at. Then, I expanded to include all jobs I was qualified for. Finally, I just started applying to everything in the salary range I needed. Jobs like Refrigeration Repair Specialist at Disneyland and Managing Editor at Black and Latina Woman Magazine. I drew the line at dishwashing (even if it WAS on Fashion Island). At the same time, I have been trying to track down appropriately sized but still affordable housing--the biggest expense we'll have. I have someone able to take my home here on a month to month rental basis (until I'm certain we're staying and would be ready to sell) but we'll need somewhere to lay our head there. I've had some great leads on both jobs and housing that I've pursued voraciously, but no luck...yet.

It's really not a matter of the "if" we should go (that's been decided), it's just the "how" and "when." And wishing I didn't need all my internal organs so much so I could sell a few to have the handful of cash that would get us down there and let us live for a few months while I job searched in person. But...for now, the search continues from here, in this weird living- between-two-worlds state of mind. I head back to California in a week for a few job interviews and testing *fingers crossed.* While I would never excuse Brad from his financial responsibility to his children, being able to provide for them without his help has been the fire beneath my feet for the last 4 years in finishing school and seizing every opportunity for career mentoring, experience, and advancement. 

In the meantime, I am learning all kinds of  (more) patience, long suffering, optimism, trust, and faith in God's timing. How to simultaneously explore every prompting and impression, and sit still and wait at the same time. It's like spiritual multi-tasking. I'm cool with it.

In the mean time, if you're in Orange County and in need of an interior decorator, or PR/Marketing princess, or a brand journalist, or incredible writer/editor/literary director, or an executive assistant with a lean towards real estate, or a nonprofit social media strategist, or a radio host--who offers impeccable integrity and robot-like work ethic and only asks you allow her a degree of creativity and flexibility with her kids and no Sunday work...well, hey! Get in touch with me. But, honestly, I can't repair refrigerators--even at Disneyland. And I'd rather not wash dishes, even glamorous ones. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.