 And just like that we moved on to a new adventure. We shook off all of those mixed feelings and sought the comfort of friends and family. Awkwardly navigating in a 30-foot beast through bay area traffic, we sped to Fresno for our first stop. And, as the road has a tendency to bring up a test or two, for our first quick fire challenge, our 18-year-old cat set us up for a good one. Frozen by the movement in back of the RV and unable to make his way to his cat box with all of the jostling, Toby lost his bowels all over the RV bed and my favorite jean jacket.
By the time we stopped for dinner late into the night, it became apparent that Toby had encountered a situation, until now, that he would have never even imagined. While in transit, I had heard him extensively mewing in the back as our sleeping bags and several others items found themselves shifting back and forth. But, being that he’s an old geezer, mewing like this is not uncommon, so I chalked it up to a typical response to a new situation. Once I had discovered what had actually transpired, I tried to hold back a barrage of cursing and being only moderately successful, I thanked god that our RV had a shower. As we deftly held Toby in the shower and slathered him with Head and Shoulders, I have to admit it, I felt a little traumatized by the event both for me as well as him. But as we lumbered into Scott and Anne’s driveway in Fresno, as haggard as we may have been, we were instantly enveloped in an oasis of good food, laughter, hospitality and a pool reminiscent of a hotel in the tropics. The next day as the kids alternated between pool and Ping-Pong and we sipped cocktails, I started to feel it… the release. I let go of the all of the anxiety and stress from painful goodbyes, packing up our lives, moving, and transition. I realized that we were beginning anew and what better place to start than here. I could’ve stayed in that moment for days, but by early afternoon, we had packed up and were headed to San Diego to greet more friends and family, and possibly a little mischief as well.
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 We made it. Out of the chaos of furniture, boxes, packing items that we didn't even know that we had, and moved into the rented unknown of an Airbnb. For three weeks we basked in the sunlight of calm, order, and minimalist living. Sun kissed cheeks and sandy feet, living like tourists in our own town. We drove the same route to work, rushing to get the kids off to school, but we came back to a vacation home at night.
But, it's hard not to feel displaced when we're in the town that we have thrived in for so long, but now we stand a little left of center. Still here but somehow in a different shape; we're in a holding pattern. I subconsciously drive home from work and park in front of my house, when the condo is on the other side of the island. Crooning my neck to find a parking space on a busy beachfront street, cursing under my breath that I could've just pulled up in front of my house a few weeks earlier. All of this adds up to a cacophony of murky feelings that leave me unsettled at night, like the smile that you muster to a joke that wasn't funny. The week before our departure we meet with our friends for the last time as California residents, spewing testimonials of our experiences together. I talk with soggy-eyed clients as we recount the years that we have worked together. I hug and re-hug my colleagues as I say, "I'll see you soon, since this isn't goodbye." We force laughs and brush off the picture of what next week will look like. Being mindful of these last moments leaves me exhausted and numb and looking for sanctuary where I can find peace from the traffic of my thoughts. I just want to let go but I can't let go at the same time. And suddenly, all at once...the RV is packed and we drive away as the kite surfers sail in the distance. "Say goodbye Alameda," I whisper to my girls as we drive over the bridge and I begin to cry. Bella asks me, "Mama is that a happy cry or a sad cry?" "It's both," and I kiss my hand and blow it across the bay. 4/16/2016 3 Comments The Move Out
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