When I first moved here, I thought I wouldn't stay.
That's not because I didn't love it. I adored it. I adored it and then I
hated it and then I adored it some more. I left it once, I left it
again. I left for weeks and months at a time, but I couldn't bring
myself to entirely turn in my key.
Since 1997, I have racked up
five different addresses, four phone numbers, but no calling birds or
turtle doves. And the entire time I have said to myself, I will leave
someday. Because there are other places I want to explore.
That is still true. And so I am torn. I still want to live in New York,
London, Sydney if Adam would deign to visit Australia. Yet I've built
this life here. As I get older, my definitions of freedom and boundary
begin to flip-flop. I don't know if I feel free or not for having built
I'm a writer and storyteller in Berkeley, CA. If you're wondering where that is, follow the smell of patchouli and skunkweed. There you'll find me with my kickass husband, gorgeous little boy, and manic Lab-Australian Shepherd mix pups. I'm represented by Miriam Altshuler of DeFiore & Co., but of course, my views are my own.