This is one of those days that I’m paid to sit in a chair, at a certain place, for a certain number of hours. This is the corporate America that makes my teeth itch. A couple of days ago, Sean said, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t go to Africa?” in light of my baker, my job opportunities, my new house, my friends. “It’s not that simple,” I replied. I’m not “glad” that I didn’t go to Africa, because that is an entirely different path I can’t even imagine right now. I know that right now, if I were in Africa, I would be thinking, “I can’t believe I almost didn’t do this”. It may sound phony or trite but even love does not outdo a calling. I’ll have to reconcile all of this someday.

And, like I said, love is easy when the other person is leaving forever, and not just because of the freedom it creates. The day my baker told me he was leaving was to be the day that I talked to him about our relationship. He has traits, practices that would have been an issue if we had more time together. Everyone can’t believe how well I’m taking his leaving, but the fact is, we aren’t entirely ready to be together. I don’t know if he’ll grow out of these things; I don’t know if it’s youth or if it’s just the way he’ll always be. It’s also a huge defensive maneuver on my part because he is 23, passionate, wild, and moving to Europe for several years. I am going to let him go. Completely, cleanly, clearly, let him go. And allow myself to go, too. No matter what it feels like to be around him, to wake up next to him. No matter.

If I were in Africa, I would not be paid to sit in a chair and write to all of you every day. That was my point. If I were working in service, I might be miserable, but I wouldn’t be paid to sit in a chair.

If I were in Africa, I would not have gone to the Farmer’s Market this morning and bought heirloom tomato plants to start my garden. Nor would I have put seeds in my bird feeder, nor would I have seen three hot-air balloons in the morning sky above my cottage. I mean, I’m not a fool. I know a good thing when I see it.

I’ve had all kinds of conflicting feelings about my locale these last few days. A friend from New York, after hearing about some of the things going on in my life here in California, said he was sad because it sounded like I’m not coming back any time soon. He’s right. I cannot imagine leaving this place. It’s frightening, a little, because I am afraid of becoming soft, but then I think about how hard things have been for so long and then I know that I’m doing the right thing. But what does it mean to not live in New York? I am away from where life is hard but therefore more striking. The mountains blend into the blue here while in New York the buildings defy the sky.

My cottage, which is wrapped in nodding wildflowers, is in Rutherford, California, population 516. Make that 517, including me. There is no mail carrier, and I just got off the phone with the local post office (which is half a block from my home). The guy at the office told me that he’d make sure that any mail addressed to my street address would find its way into my new little mailbox. My phone is costing me $10.46 a month which includes unlimited local calling. And it took one day to get turned on. When filling out my lease, my landlady kept asking what each line meant and saying that we didn’t need to bother with most of it. At the end of our meeting, she signed her copy, I signed mine, and she told me to keep the one I had just signed. Every morning, there are birds waiting patiently at the as-of-yet empty bird feeder in my yard (I have a yard!) because they know that eventually I will get around to buying a big bag of seeds.

My friends are the best I’ve ever known. Jon in particular shames the rest of us because we know we will simply never be the kind of friend that he is, no matter how hard we try. Last week, before I had fully moved in, Jon waited at my new place for my bed to be delivered since I had to be at work. But when I got home, he had not only installed the bed (with his own sheets and pillows), he had also bought, framed, and hung beautiful pictures and covered the place in candles, flowers, and gifts. It was incredible. My baker showed up an hour later with wine and flowers and felt completely outdone. But the rest of us mere humans cannot compare with an immortal like John. And he is one of the handful of brilliant people who I love and who love me out here.

I am doing nothing to get myself back on stage. I am doing nothing to even get myself back to New York. I hardly even think about it, except when I have deep moments of longing for the company of my brothers and sisters and breakfast at the farmhouse. But I’m sleeping at night, so I think I’ll keep heading down this path. It’s just that the path is unfamiliar and really, unthinkable a year ago. I made a Christmas wish not even six months ago that feels like it was made in another lifetime. I guess it’s yet another lesson in impermanence, but you never believe how radically your heart can change until you look back and see where you’ve been.

I went camping this past weekend and it was glorious. My baker (how funny, that with all the things this man is, we still refer to him as the baker) and I went 1100 miles- South Tahoe, Yosemite, desert, mountains, lakes, rivers, deer, magpies, hawks, hot springs, cold nights, polenta cakes by the fire (he is a chef, after all) and love beneath the sun and the stars. We spent three days driving and stopping, hiking and camping, and savoring our last weeks together. He is leaving next week, Tuesday being our last night together, and I just can’t believe it. I fought this for so long, fought him and myself and did my absolute best not to care about this person and he waded through it just for the chance to tell me I’m beautiful. He has given me more in less than two months than any man of my life. In my world of dating and relationships, he has been the one. Of course, it’s easy to love when you know that person is leaving you. I’m no idiot about that. Since the moment he decided to leave, we have given ourselves carte blanche to adore each other. It has erased my fears and put me face to face with actually loving someone enough to let them go. It’s a strange feeling. I’ve told him that the minute he leaves, our lives are our own and we should live them as we please. He speaks of not wanting to love again, and of seeing me again, and what can I say? I’ve lived almost 9 years longer than this man and while he is the most evolved specimen I’ve ever met, I know what is coming to him. I know what it is like to be young and passionate and filled with wanderlust.

I don’t know how long I can last at this job. Several days in a row I came in to my work and my boss’ first words were what I had done wrong the day before. The politics of this place are overwhelming- I can’t ask for help without someone telling me I’ve asked the wrong person. Trying to get anything accomplished is like punching through huge, sticky marshmallows- it’s impossible to reach the target and you get covered with shmeg trying. It’s tragic, really, because this place, this program could be great and I get roadblocked every time I attempt to make anything happen. My boss actually spoke of demoting me the other day because a student did something stupid and she believed it was my fault. If you were to ask the people I actually work for and with, they would say I’m invaluable, but the persons lording over me have no real concept of what I do. I guess this is Corporate America but clearly it is not for me. I don’t necessarily do this well. I can, I mean, I can do it brilliantly, but whenever I bow down I can’t sleep that night.

There is yet another huge possibility, career-wise, that is happening outside of this place. I’m barely smart enough to know that I can’t write one more thing about it, but this could be it. The merging of all the good things I’ve ever done. I’ll know more in the next couple of weeks, and even if it happens I won’t be able to write about it. However, it is hope, and goodness, and for good people, and it could be that thing I’ve been working towards. No, it’s not a Broadway show, nor a staff writing job, nor an incredible service opportunity, nor a chance to talk about and sell wine. It could actually be all of those things.

I’m hoping to plant a garden next weekend- tomatoes and squash and herbs and flowers. It will be a good project for my first weekend without my man. And hopefully Fezzik (my cat, not the giant) will be joining me soon, too. Comparatively poor company, but I’ll take what I can get.

There has been something huge happening every single day for the past couple of weeks and it is amazing how time falls away each day. In my case, time does not slip, it hurtles. Work has been difficult at best, challenging in good ways but ultimately the pain in my ass factor is larger than the satisfaction factor. I’m doing my best to roll with it but when I get an evaluation from my boss and she’s marked “above average” on my work performance, I realize I’m just wasting time. Yesterday I rolled up my sleeves to show her the excema dotting my arms. I’m literally covered in stress. Above average? Above average my ever-firming ass. I do excellent work, even when I screw things up, but I am unable to play the politics to the level she’d prefer and so I’m demoted to “above average”. If I ever do anything above average, I’d like to be, as they say, taken out back and shot. Or at least beat up. I don’t care to live like that.

I’m also working on another project for a different company that I hope will turn out to be a big opportunity. The work is challenging but satisfying, and I’m good at it. There just hasn’t been enough time. I was hoping to be done with it by now. Alas. I also finished my EMT refresher course, which was not a great use of time, but at least as soon as I get my notification in the mail, I will be recertified and I can start volunteering on a bus around here. That will be good times. First, though, I need to get the latest coursebook and actually refresh myself. I learned about 10% of what I need to remember in this class, and it is not nearly enough to start trusting myself with other people’s lives. It was great to be in that environment again, however- surrounded by EMS folks, nurses, firefighters (!)- the emergency community is good company. I’ve missed it.

And my baker- full of surprises, most of them good. He is so lovely, so sweet, so good to me, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job of just enjoying it. I have moments of doubt and fear but they are so much shorter and have much less impact than in any of my relationships past. There are times in the day that I like him more. I don’t know how to explain that, but in the mornings, I think he’s the best thing since SCUBA gear. I still like him an awful lot in the afternoons and evenings, but in the mornings he is so clear-eyed, so driven, so focused, and so adorable. There are things about him that give me pause, that are directly related not to our age difference itself but to the knowledge and choices those years bring. So it’s almost, almost easy to just enjoy and have good fun rather then getting caught up in the sturm and drang of a relationship.

I’m missing Anastasia in Vanuatu, and Hayley in New York, and even my friends here who I haven’t seen in far too long. But I’ve just signed a lease on a new apartment, a cottage really, here in town, so it looks like I’m sticking around for a little while. I’ll have to get everyone here to visit me. Any takers?

I don’t know how long I’ll get away with writing because an embargo has been placed on computers at my wine dinner. Sometimes there simply, simply is no time to write. This week feels like one of those when I was in Citrus Singers- so ultimately busy and exhausting that there is no time.

I don’t have a digital camera, so I cannot visually represent this evening. I could tell you about my feet, how utterly lousy with filth and pain they are, but far more interesting is that Jordana Davis is officially my sister-in-law. The wedding was more beautiful, more extraordinary, and far more fun than I can possibly describe here, particularly since I’m weak with drink and dance. Seriously, I can’t spell, and my arms keep falling off my laptop. I would have eaten a bowl of cereal but I couldn’t lift the box. So I’m off to sleep, with wedding stories having to wait until I can think and write more rationally.

Quick favorite moments? Sean and Jordi waltzing to Ian and I singing. My great Aunt Donna dancing with Lindsay Bowen. Kent dancing all night. My mom’s yellow dress. Tessa and I dancing with a long scarf and one Scott Bullock. More than anything? Sean and Jordana both looking so beautiful it hurt.