I haven’t done a good job of updating my life since I moved. I should probably do that.
I moved here on a Sunday, the day the Giants won the World Series. They had just beaten my Cardinals, so I can’t say I was too jazzed about it. I arrived to town late that afternoon, went to a pizza place in Berkeley to watch the game (it was cool to see the celebration when the Giants did win) and started a new job the next morning.
I’m working for a company located in the Embarcadero area of San Francisco. For reference, it’s by the water and Bay Bridge, about two miles from the baseball stadium. I’m living in a town called San Carlos, about thirty five miles south of the city. A friend has a condo there, and I’m staying with him. My commute, admittedly, is a bear—close to an hour and a half each way. But I’ve been good about it. I use the time to write, read or study (I started learning a new language a while back). I’ve been attending different churches in the city. I’ll probably need to start dating soon.
My friend Chris made the trip up in the U-Haul with me. During the drive, we agreed that it would probably be a tough few weeks to start with. After all, one doesn’t make a major transition without speed bumps along the way. To expect it to be seamless would be foolish, or at least naive. I talked to Chris the other night and gave him an update.
“That’s pretty much just what we thought it would be like,” he said.
“I guess you’re right,” I answered. I had forgotten. Even started to get a little grumpy. It was good perspective.
So that’s my life right now. If you see me, I’ll either be typing furiously on my MacBook Air, reading Percy Jackson and “The Bicycle Thief”, or memorizing vocabulary flash cards—while on the last train home.