Realizing California

I’ve written before on this blog about my childhood desire to move back to Southern California and how that desire drastically diminished with, I would say, a dash of maturity and a whole lot of Colorado.

I return to that theme today.

Eleven days ago, as Kate and I were landing in San Diego, we were admiring the beauty of the city from above.

We were walking toward the baggage claim when I heard this out of Kate’s mouth.

“Let’s move here. I wanna live here.”

“No you don’t.” I said.

“Yes, I do.”

I didn’t feel like saying, “No, you don’t” again. I knew after she got a good taste of Southern California she would change her mind. Of course, I didn’t point this out to her. I just kept my mouth shut regarding that and indulged in a dream with her. “I’ll only move here if we can buy a beach house. One right on the beach. Not a block away. Not with a view of the beach from a distance. A front row beach house.”

“Okay.” She said with a perky twist to it that just slightly undermined the difficulty of being able to purchase/afford such a house.

Less than 48 hours later, after Kate saw the expanse that Southern California suburbia is, after driving great distances on six-lane roads over sweeping hills to just go to the super market, after hearing about traffic on the five (I-5), after learning more about the cost of living in Southern California, after observing the lifestyle of Californians that pushes the limits of sustainability, after realizing all those things make living by the Pacific and not having to experience a winter not look so good anymore, she said, “I don’t want to live here.”

I told her. “I know.”