Transition

It's another rainy night in San Francisco as I sit down to write. From the comfort of my (oh so comfy!) polk-a-dot pajamas I can hear tires splashing through the intersection outside. It will only be a few more weeks before Doug and I embark on our next journey, beyond the city we have called home. What a long, strange trip it has been, to borrow a famous phrase. For most of my three years here I have busily fussed over the claustrophobia of the city, the difficulty of basic tasks, the cost of living, and the God-awful weather. Seriously, I have never been so cold. But despite all of my fuss, here I sit listening to the rain and feeling sad it is coming time to go.

My San Francisco nostalgia has been creeping up for a few weeks now. It began with my potential job offer in Sacramento. Despite my lofty talk of having a yard, walls without strangers on the other side and finally having basic amenities enjoyed by most (laundry in the building, anyone?), Doug and I found ourselves searching for housing downtown. We got excited when a potential apartment or condo was next to light rail. We got excited when organic groceries were in walking distance. Most importantly, we were not excited about having a free-standing home. It seemed so lonely. 

I suppose this shouldn't surprise me. Despite the bone-chilling wind and fog of the ironically-named inner sunset district, I have enjoyed stellar cuisine (the likes Fresno has never seen) and a backyard in Golden Gate Park. Not to mention our most recent discovery: the botanical gardens. Within five minutes of walking (downhill nonetheless) I can flash my drivers license and get in free to the most beautiful garden in Northern California. Eager to enjoy the warm sunshine on Sunday, Doug and I took a birthday (and, I suppose, Easter) stroll through the various garden plots. The camelias were on full display, as were the most incredible iris flowers. It wasn't long before we settled into a sunward bench among the knee-high irises to enjoy a few quiet minutes of pleasure reading. It was a beautiful day I will not soon forget, but it left me sad that it is coming time to go...

An Iris

The view from our bench :)

A bridge in the Redwood Grove

A field of Poppies in the California Native Garden

Epilogue

This just in: an email from my interviewer with the subject line reading “thank you.” And, as the subject line suggested, it was not the hoped-for news. The email reads like I was runner-up. Second place. In fact, it was the nicest rejection letter I could have hoped for… I turned right around and sent them a thank you note… best of luck in your endeavors! After all, they are doing amazing work. Just without me.

So, Plan B, formerly known as Plan A before it was demoded in hopes of a paying job, is underway. Despite the disappointing news, there is a certain amount of excitement that comes with even the smallest amount of certainty. After all, it has been five weeks of spinning daydreams of life with paychecks. After breaking the news to Doug last night, and having a rough couple of hours seeking a bar exam loan (denied due to too much debt… what?!), we marched ourselves out the door to our favorite yoga class.

By the time I reached shavasana (“corpse pose,” my favorite), I lay in the dark, sprawled in my sweat, and wrote the first chapter of my novel. Why shouldn't I just become a writer? Just look at John Grisham. Oh the places I can go… The future is exciting. 

The Art of Waiting

The Art of Waiting

I recall reading a book on meditation a few years ago. One chapter described life as swinging from one trapeze to another. Constantly we are experiencing change in our life and not always do we have the support of a trapeze swing in our hands. The idea, the book explained, was to embrace those moments of floating—of complete suspension—between trapeze swings. Accept the uncertainties in life, then go beyond and learn to embrace them. As I have learned more about meditation, and become a regular practitioner, I realize the beauty of this metaphor. The trapeze artist moves with ease and grace. She reaches for the next trapeze swing to propel her forward, but doesn’t grasp or clutch desperately to the swing that came before.

This metaphor has been in the back of my mind for a few weeks now. Three weeks ago I interviewed for a fantastic position in Sacramento. Two weeks ago I interviewed a second time. One week ago I interviewed again. This week: I have waited. With the trapeze swing of law school rescinding in the next few weeks, I have entered a state of weightlessness and am about to let go. It is really exciting; it is really terrifying. But I am a novice trapeze artist—I desperately seek something to grab on to. Yet, here I am on the verge of total suspension waiting to see if the next swing is offered. A civil war breaks out in my chest thinking about it, so I shift to my meditation practice and take a deep breath. Then another…. 

The Scenarios:

Number 1: If I get the job in Sacramento, Doug and I move there after our finals in May. I would start work immediately and he would study for the bar exam over the summer. We would try to rent a condo where we can have the Chocolate Lab that we have always talked about. We would have a home to come back to after our marriage. We would have health insurance!

Number 2: If I do not get the job in Sacramento, Doug and I would put all of our furniture in storage by June. We would move out of San Francisco and study for the bar together (this part would be fun, despite the exam). After taking the bar, we will await our results. We will live out of our parent’s homes. We will pass the time by applying for jobs, but many employers want a bar card before considering you... so Doug will have to bartend... I suppose I am coordinated enough to wait tables. We will get married in October... Loans will go into repayment in November… and … I’m terrified. And maybe getting ahead of myself...

The Suspension Is Killing Me!

Despite my lofty talk of meditation and metaphors, this week has been a struggle. I have three very strong emotions warring in my chest: excitement, fear and doubt. I suppose fear and doubt can be collapsed into one, so maybe it’s just two. It’s hard to tell; it’s a warzone in there.

It’s Saturday. Last Wednesday my interview ended with: “Tracy, thank you for your time. We will be in contact early next week.” Since Monday I have monitored my phone and email account incessantly. I leave my phone for an hour, then rush back and clutch it with Gollum-like desperation. Just give me a sign!

Wednesday was the peak of my desperation. I sat with my Corporations book open on the table and my phone a few inches to the right. My eyes read something about the Duty of Loyalty owed by the Board of Directors in a Corporation, but my mind analyzed the definition of “early next week.”

Walking to school through Golden Gate Park I started to feel better. Maybe they’re just waiting to surprise me. It will be like Publisher’s Clearinghouse. They are going to show up, balloons in hand with a giant contract. They are going to laugh at my shock, telling me they knew it was me all along… they thought I knew! I decided this must be the case.

Today, Saturday morning, I am not so sure. After a week of agony I have arrived at apathy. No doubt my emotions will shift again soon. All I can do is wait. And breathe.

In The Beginning...

In the beginning, there was MySpace*. Then there was Facebook. Today I have taken control and started my first blog. Welcome to The T Party.

I am excited to get back to what I love: writing. Facebook would have you believe that I only think in three-sentence phrases. In fact, there was a time when I sought a career in writing. I studied writing and journalism as an undergraduate. And, nerd alert, I even wrote for my high school and college newspapers. While that career prospect quickly dissipated outside the cozy walls of Loyola Marymount, I still maintain a secret identity as "writer." Never mind that law school has beat creativity and fancy sentence structures out of me. This blog will serve as my writing resurrection.

I have a few goals with starting this blog. First, I want to challenge myself creatively. Second, I want to share more personal experiences and thoughts with those who choose to follow, that is, those closest to me. I hope to reach new depths with friends and family-- depths unavailable through social media. And I can't wait to get started!

[Caveat: I make no promises that my humble blog will be as entertaining as that of my better half... The American Century as Seen Through a Brick... however, I do hope to at least tell my side of the stories.]

Until next time...
T

*Full disclosure: that MySpace account still exists and it is the truest form of Blackmail. All efforts to embody my 18 year old self and guess the password have failed. I hold firmly to the belief that no one (no one!) who has any self respect frequents those pages. Therefore, I trust that includes you, my loyal reader.