Posted May 26th, 2004 by Michelle

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.