Hello friends and welcome back!

If you noticed I was not posting, then thanks for noticing. I took the whole month of April, and most of March off from blogging—the longest hiatus in the nearly six years I’ve been running this thing. It felt weird when the first missed deadline came and went, but as the weeks flew by, the things taking my time compounding on one another, it became more normal. I almost forgot about awheelinthesky for a minute there.

I’m not going to bore you with all the numerous “adulting” items that stole my time and focus away from blogging (for now at least), but I do want to say thanks for your patience with my inconsistency, and thanks for coming back to read this thing.

As it turns out, I’ve got something post-worthy to celebrate this week—One year of living in San Diego!

Come along with me while I take the teeniest trip down memory lane and update you all on how this West Coast experiment is going.

Weeee!

May

Last year on May first, I was in England, attending the funeral of a dear friend. It was the close of a dark chapter, and two days later, when I flew to San Diego, it was the beginning of a fresh start. This year I spent the first day of May celebrating my new girlfriend’s birthday (man, do I love a Taurus) and marveling at how a whole year has gone by. It’s astounding how much has changed.

The following is a list of some of the highlights (and lower ones, too) of the past year, since moving to San Diego.

A year, in a List

I grieved heavily, then softly, as time went on.

I made a whole new circle of friends.

But before this, I attended many, many events all by myself, hoping to meet people. I forced myself to speak to said people. And then, if the conversation was decent, I forced myself to ask for their information. It was awkward and SO worth it in the end.

I found and immersed myself in queer community—something I’d always wanted more of in my life—and embraced my queer identity like I never have.

I fell in love. A surprising kind, the likes of which I haven’t felt in nearly a decade.

Before this, I checked out the dating scene, briefly. Even got myself into a little drama.

I learned to be a commuter, flying from San Diego to Boston each week to work, then flying back home after I’ve finished my trips. It’s mostly not so bad. It is 100 times less bad than driving from Providence to Boston multiple times per week. This may sound crazy, living in California, but I spend far less time driving than I ever have. It has been a delightful surprise, and the savings—in stress and money—are significant. I hope to never have a traffic-filled commute again.

I’ve managed a rental property from across the country, which, to be honest, I don’t recommend doing.

I’ve hosted family in my new home, which was pretty awesome.

I joined a run club—something else I’ve always wanted to do and never got around to.

I signed up for a Marathon (which is rapidly approaching!)

I picked up my flight attendant friends from their layover hotels and took them out for adventures in San Diego.

I have attended professional baseball and soccer games, though I don’t own any of the local teams’ swag.

I read books from the dozens of little free libraries in my neighborhood. I donated some too.

I’ve shopped in thrift stores all around the city of San Diego, after realizing I had very little clothing that wasn’t activewear, formal wear, or a uniform.

I’ve tested out 20+ coffee shops and I have my favorites.

I’ve done some local travel—visiting Joshua Tree National Park, Palm Springs, Jacumba Hot Springs, and Julian, CA.

I finished an ENTIRE(ly too long) rough draft of a book project.

I worked diligently (obsessively?) on a new personal essay and then submitted it to a major publication. (We’ll hear back in four months, wish me luck!)

I celebrated five years without alcohol. My new friends celebrated, too.

I got over the shame of living with roommates at age 39 and fully embraced the benefits:

• It’s allowed me to live in this expensive, gorgeous city that I can’t get enough of.
• It made making friends here much easier—both because I had instant connections with my roommates and because the desire to hermit my nights away on the couch is less appealing when the couch is shared.
• It is nice having someone to chat with at home, especially when one of your roommates is a flight attendant and understands the lifestyle, the dramas, and how exhausted you must be after working a redeye and then commuting home.
• Some roommates are wonderful, and I hit the lottery with mine. All of us are clean, respectful, and all of us leave often. Each of us has an opportunity to have this 3 bed/2.5 bath home to ourselves several times a month.

We interviewed new roommates, and we found one.

I searched for new tenants, and finally found some.

I flew across the country to see family and friends.

I met new babies, who I loved instantly.

I took a “break from travel” (or at least, I kept saying I did) to maximize my time at home. It is wild, after so long living like a nomad, dreaming of the next destination, feeling stifled when in one place too long, to feel so grounded, cozy, and at home in a place. Moving here feels like one of the best things I ever did. It feels like meant to be.

I went to the Noah Kahan concert in Chula Vista with my new roommates, which was a reckoning of lives. My recently deceased English friend loved Noah Kahan. He’d tried arduously to get me to like him, too, which I resisted until after it was too late to share this particular thing in common. In the months before he died, Will attended a Noah Kahan concert and raved to me about it. He may have gone to two of his shows. It may have been the last of the numerous concerts he took the trouble to go to when he was sick.

Being at the same show, thousands of miles away, with people I hardly knew but was starting to like, felt like connective tissue between the past and my unfolding future. It felt deeply satisfying, and almost like closure.