It is time to start again....
This morning, as I walked home from Stow Lake, after a multi-month long hiatus from walking through Golden Gate Park, I happily reflected on how much change this new year has already brought my way. Usually, I make an annual plan with a dear friend, create a collage based on the plan, write out all of my successes from the past year, and make a bunch of promises to myself that I break within weeks. This year it all seemed unnecessary. Instead my October trip to India brought to light what I needed to change and my new job at a huge, prestigious foundation starkly highlighted my successes. However, there is an unanswered question...
Upon returning from the Taj Mahal and the foothills of the Himalayas, I knew I needed to change jobs and in the process, I hoped to move away from San Francisco. It is something I've threatened to do since 2009. The sun that soaked my skin daily in Delhi was what I wanted more of, that was clear. The fog of last summer was something I wanted to leave behind. And yet, despite two weeks enjoying the unseasonably warm January days in the Bay Area and commuting 40 minutes to an hour to my magnificent job (in my cute new bright blue Mini Cooper), I am still undecided on my living arrangement.
Before I started spending time in the Stanford area, I vowed to move to Palo Alto or Menlo Park in Spring. I imagined walking along tree-lined University Avenue and meeting lots of male suitors at Barnes & Noble... My parents were over-joyed and promised themselves to visit me more frequently in the towns that offer more or easier parking than San Francisco. But, after several conversations with co-workers that live in both the family-friendly Peninsula and quirky San Francisco, an evening perusing the shelves in a calm Trader Joe's where the only people of color were those who worked there, and a lunch-hour being stared at by a young Sephora employee at Stanford Shopping Centre because I admitted that my purse was a knock-off of the Berkin bag, I am conflicted.
Of course, my circumstances are different. My week days are spent in the sun-belt of the Peninsula. My lease is up in April when I have the opportunity to move to Potrero Hill or Bernal Heights, two neighborhoods notoriously known for the sun that shines there (and close to the 101 and 280 freeways). And so, there is opportunity. Let's see what happens...
This morning, as I walked home from Stow Lake, after a multi-month long hiatus from walking through Golden Gate Park, I happily reflected on how much change this new year has already brought my way. Usually, I make an annual plan with a dear friend, create a collage based on the plan, write out all of my successes from the past year, and make a bunch of promises to myself that I break within weeks. This year it all seemed unnecessary. Instead my October trip to India brought to light what I needed to change and my new job at a huge, prestigious foundation starkly highlighted my successes. However, there is an unanswered question...
Upon returning from the Taj Mahal and the foothills of the Himalayas, I knew I needed to change jobs and in the process, I hoped to move away from San Francisco. It is something I've threatened to do since 2009. The sun that soaked my skin daily in Delhi was what I wanted more of, that was clear. The fog of last summer was something I wanted to leave behind. And yet, despite two weeks enjoying the unseasonably warm January days in the Bay Area and commuting 40 minutes to an hour to my magnificent job (in my cute new bright blue Mini Cooper), I am still undecided on my living arrangement.
Before I started spending time in the Stanford area, I vowed to move to Palo Alto or Menlo Park in Spring. I imagined walking along tree-lined University Avenue and meeting lots of male suitors at Barnes & Noble... My parents were over-joyed and promised themselves to visit me more frequently in the towns that offer more or easier parking than San Francisco. But, after several conversations with co-workers that live in both the family-friendly Peninsula and quirky San Francisco, an evening perusing the shelves in a calm Trader Joe's where the only people of color were those who worked there, and a lunch-hour being stared at by a young Sephora employee at Stanford Shopping Centre because I admitted that my purse was a knock-off of the Berkin bag, I am conflicted.
Of course, my circumstances are different. My week days are spent in the sun-belt of the Peninsula. My lease is up in April when I have the opportunity to move to Potrero Hill or Bernal Heights, two neighborhoods notoriously known for the sun that shines there (and close to the 101 and 280 freeways). And so, there is opportunity. Let's see what happens...
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