It's official

This has been a difficult blog post to write. After three weeks of deliberation and two weeks of drafts on this post, I've decided to leave to San Francisco. There are so many things about this city that I love, I am very sad to leave it. It's a culturally vibrant, cosmopolitan city with liberal sensibilities, incredible food and a kick-ass public transit system. Masses of people commute by bicycle. On every doorstep there are plants in pots: exotic flowers, fruit trees, vegetables and even grapevines!


I remember a friend of mine who bought a house in Silverlake, Los Angeles, and within a few days, the potted plants she put on her porch were stolen. In San Francisco, the streets are clean, Europeans love to visit it, the air is fresh and it's surrounded by the ocean, a bay, mountains and redwood forests. Yes, I will miss it. I will miss my local farmer's market, walking to visit my friend Sharon in Hayes Valley, eating amazing food in little hole-in-the-wall restaurants like the vegetarian Japanese place Cha-Ya, getting to museums downtown in twenty minutes on the BART, picking up my freshly roasted and freshly ground coffee at Ritual Coffee and the cute boys who ride by on bicycles. The only things I won't miss are the fire trucks that scream by my apartment five times a day and freezing year-round.


A year ago, when I left L.A., I was contemplating the same decision I'm making now. I was unemployed and looking for a job. I didn't want any of the jobs I was qualified for and didn't even want most the ones I wasn't qualified for. I wondered what was wrong with me. Was I afraid? Lazy? Unambitious? The fact is, I had stopped pursuing acting, something I spent five years on, but didn't really have the opportunity to figure out what was next. What was next? Now, a year later, I'm fighting the same problem. I've been out of work for over three months. I've applied for jobs, I've worked my contacts, I've finessed the resume, I've gone to interviews and prepared presentations but still at the end of the day, I know that I'm not working very hard for it. I don't REALLY want these jobs and more and more I feel my life slipping away.

If I have a job, it's not that difficult to keep on keepin' on and just do the job. In fact, I care about my work, I enjoy work and I don't have a problem getting up and going but being out of work suddenly challenges me. Devoting a day to pursuing a job I don't want is ten times more difficult than just doing the job I don't want. Instead my interests have taken over and I've found the bulk of my time being spent planting a garden, taking photos, making a music video with a collaborator, making a video for Amnesty International, writing copy and developing strategy for a non-profit, volunteering for Taproot, uploading my video clips to YouTube and watching documentaries on Netflix. It turns out, I enjoy marketing much more when I'm volunteering my time. Why? Because it's my time to give, no one owns me.

I know that I am one of the privileged of the world, a person who has choices. Even when I've felt myself under stress, confused and sometimes depressed, I still know that I am happier, more optimistic and more capable than so many other people. At times, I have let the guilt of wanting more keep me from being what I want, from doing what I want. It has always been easy for me to say what I don't want. Maybe it's a because my father was controlling but I could always say "no": quit, leave, break up and take off, anytime. Embarking on a path towards doing something though, saying "yes" has always been extremely difficult. So that's where I am now. It's not the leaving that I'm afraid of, it's what comes after.

The truth is, I'm afraid. Afraid of not knowing what I want, afraid of failing to achieve what I want, afraid of disappointing the people I love, afraid of wasting my life. It's taken me several years to come to this decision, a decision to figure out what's next. What can I put my heart towards that will sustain me, financially and emotionally? That is the question I am embarking on a journey to answer. For the time being, I will move in with my mom. I'll stay with her as long as I need to find my path, launch a business, make a film, write a script or whatever it is I'm meant to do. I will reconcile myself to the fact that I'll be living at home with mom when I got to my 20th high school reunion later this year. I have to let go of my pride, banish fear and embrace my own potential. That journey begins now.

I just finished watching the first season of Mad Men and there's a great quote by Peggy, the secretary who finds herself taking on a career as a copywriter, something unheard for a woman in the ad world. She's on a date with a boy from "back home" and when he snips that "those people" in Manhattan aren't better than us she says: “Those people in Manhattan? “They are better than us. They want things they haven’t seen.”

A place in the world

Something happened today. I’m not sure what it was but today I felt like I finally engaged in the rest of my life. The last couple of weeks I’ve had this odd sensation of time passing but not really knowing what day it is, what month or even, sometimes, what year. I’ve been feeling dislodged from life, just not sure where I am, where I’m going and often, where I’ve been. Living in Seattle seems like a distant memory, the person I was is someone I wouldn’t recognize on the street. Los Angeles feels very far away, much farther than it actually is and I’ve never felt more distant from the people I love.

I miss being able to jump in the car and drive to my mom’s house. The same-old-same-old of her quiet suburban backyard, sitting with her drinking tea and talking about nothing, these things make my heart ache. I don’t call my friends as much, I think because I know I can’t make plans to meet them for dinner or drinks or lunch or shopping or yoga or a movie or a walk. I don’t want to be reminded of how far away they are. This is my third major move as an adult, my third time starting over with home, work, friends. I understand now why some people never do it. It’s one of those “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” type things, which is not to say that I’m not deeply aware that in the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing.

My co-worker’s dad has prostate cancer. He’s youngish and being treated so he’ll probably be alright but it’s been hard on her to see her dad weakened, to see a proud and able man diminished by age and disease. Another co-worker just lost his mom. My boss' uncle tried to kill himself with pills. Life is cruel and eventually we all meet that fate so I thank my lucky stars that my life is so interesting, dynamic and fruitful.

Today I went for a run. I don’t like to run especially but I find myself wanting to do it when I feel alive, when I have energy that needs to be spent, and when I want to clear my head. I now feel able to do that instead of lingering in a hazy fog hoping sleep will wipe it away. That’s how I’ve been for the last couple of weeks. Tired, foggy, and while happy for the most part, confused. Today I didn’t feel that way. Maybe it’s because we were putting our presentation at work together, the “here’s what we need to do our project” presentation to the big boss. If we get it, I still have a job, and maybe even more of the job I want. If we don’t get it (the millions of dollars), I’m not sure what happens. I stay here, find a job in the city, I don’t know.

I miss acting, ironically, I miss making movies, but I don’t miss Hollywood. This weekend I fly to the east coast to see one of my dearest girlfriends get married. She used to live here and it makes me sad that we missed each other, here, but nothing could make me happier than seeing her marry someone she loves. Maybe that’s part of what happened today. I realized that moving changes things – where I shop, what I do on the weekends, how I exercise, how I get to work – but the important things, it doesn’t change. My important people, my passions and interests, my sense of self and feeling of place in the world, these things I take with me. These things live inside me.

Somehow, it DOES all work out

From the beginning of this moving process, what was stressing me out the most was how I was going to get my belongings and furniture from point A to point B. I’d never actually had things worth moving before, and nothing that wouldn’t fit in a car. My dad suggested that I just get rid of everything and start over but that’s his style, he’s attached to nothing and practically lives like a monk with only the bare minimum. But selling what I have and buying new furniture is more work than moving it.

So there was labor to consider – what would make my life easiest? What would make the most sense financially? The most difficult consideration was when to move. Do I wait until I have a point B and move from one apartment to another? What about breaking my lease? I need to clear out ASAP so the landlords can rent and how long can I afford to leave my stuff there? But if I move it to storage do I still use professional movers? And do I store it here or there (and at that point I don’t think I could have specified which location was here and there.)

My good friends kept saying “don’t worry, it will work out,” which is one of those things that’s really irritating to hear when you’re stressed out. I feel like saying “How? HOW will they work out exactly? Don’t I have to make them work out?” But then, as promised, they did. I found an apartment in San Francisco and a few days later Delancey Street returned my call. When I talked to them initially, they said they’d need to come out and look at the apartment and at my stuff – which concerned me because I wasn’t there – but when I got the guy on the phone I said “Look, I’m already living in the Bay Area; my stuff is packed, I’ve filled out two inventory lists already for moving companies, I think it’s 2,500-3,000 pounds and I need to move it next weekend, is there any way we can do this?” To which he miraculously replied, “yeah” and just like that, I had movers arranged.

On the day of the move, a crew of five young guys covered in tattoos, but otherwise clean cut, arrived on my doorstep an hour early. I wasn’t done packing (I’d lied before about being done) and asked them to come back. “Do you want us to help?” they asked, “we can bang that out for you in ten minutes.” They made an otherwise crazy day into an easy one. They were polite and professional, quick and careful. I felt taken care of and actually enjoyed the process. It cost me just over $1,400, which is a very good price. They packed me on a Friday and I my things were delivered Wednesday morning in San Francisco, also about an hour early, by a similarly professional and pleasant crew. They were able to get everything through the slim doorway of my new building and not one thing was damaged or broken. Whoever said, “it will work out” was a genius! (I think it was Steve).

The soccer players and me

Never again will I agree to take a job in a new city without time off. I don't care how urgent the company says it is. When all I had to do was show up, I was on top of the world. I felt smart, I felt needed, I felt like I belonged and I was excited about this job. But as soon as the moving part started, I couldn't focus on anything. It was like the ground and everything else was moving at the same time, in different directions. Then I started feeling lost, stupid, unsure and confused. I'm a creature of habit, I need to have certain things be the same or I lose my bearings. Eventually I got into a little bit of a rhythm, sleeping on a friend's couch and living out of a closet, sure, but getting up at the same time and getting coffee at the same little shop on the way to work made a big difference. I had a few days where I felt like things were clicking, but every week the rhythm was interrupted by a trip to LA (I've been three times in three weeks for work), weekends in the city looking for apartments, and everyone else's vacation schedules. Then I got a really bad cold.

Luckily I'd already found an apartment and got to spend some time just relaxing (I'm still sick but the relaxing was nice). I finished Harry Potter book 5 and was thinking that for all my complaining, I can be grateful I'm not Potter. That kid has problems that just never end, eh? It was funny because the whole book was about his dreams and how he kept dreaming what Voldemort was doing. It make me more conscious about my dreams. Last night I dreamed that a whole team of hot international soccer players were vying for my attention, one had cooked me an authentic Italian meal, another wanted to give me a massage. I cracked myself up at how very female it was - hot guys who cook and give massages (LOL!) - and also how reflective of despite all the chaos, I'm in a pretty good mood. I just hope I'm back on top soon.

Three whirlwind weeks

I drove up to the Bay Area on August 20 to start the new job the next day. It's only been a little over three weeks and already I've flown back to LA for work twice. It's disorienting to go to San Francisco on the weekend (to apartment hunt), San Mateo in the evenings, San Jose for work and Los Angeles for meetings and not live in any of those places. But by next weekend, my life will start to make a little more sense. Today, even though I'm totally ill and woke up with a cold my co-workers gave me (thank you!), I'm driving to LA to meet the ex-con movers at my place on Friday. They'll deliver my things on Wednesday and by next weekend, I'll be unpacked and living in San Francisco! I'm hoping then I will then be able to blog more regularly.

Ex-cons are the only movers you can trust

I had a conversation with one of my neighbors that I'd never had a chance to talk to before. He's always sitting outside in the sun and I knew his name is Keith, he's a writer and has lots of tattoos. I didn't know that he had just gone through a divorce, lost his parents, and is from Manhattan. I got to see his apartment and it's decorated like a male version of mine. A big comfortable couch and furniture from the 30's, which matches the 1939 building. He asked me if I had arranged for movers yet and when I said I hadn't he recommended a company.

First I have to say that selecting a moving company is one of the most confusing and difficult commercial endeavors I've had to navigate. It's like the industry is still in the 1970's and run by the mob. I was at an apartments site and used a little widget to request quotes from movers. I got responses from no less than ten companies. They emailed and many called and either called or emailed me every day since. Their quotes range from $895 to $1,895 for the same move! Their contracts are confusing and bizarre and I really didn't know what to do.

To complicate matters, I don't have a place to move the stuff into yet and the longer my things are in the Santa Monica apartment, the greater the chance I'll end up paying yet another unoccupied month of rent. So I've looked into pods and storage and movers and U-Hauls and day laborers. There are a myriad of choices, all of which are difficult to decipher which combination will end up costing the least. Talking to my mom about it, she said it reminded her of Bank of America (whom she said she's heard is run by the mob). She works for the government and they have a deal with BofA to handle all of their corporate accounts. But when my mom's purse was stolen on a business trip, Bank of America was the only credit card that wouldn't take off the charges incurred by the thieves. My mom got a ding on her credit report for three years and has refused to use them (corporate or otherwise) since. I have my own horror story about BofA and wasn't looking forward to experiencing what moving companies are doing to people.

A regular Joe got mad and got even by starting MovingScam.com to educate other people, watchdog the industry and inspire people to take action. It's an excellent site and the story is fantastic. He got charged three times the initial rate, waited six weeks to get his damaged belongings, some of which were missing, and spend countless hours on the phone dealing with these thugs. Three years later the ringleader was actual convicted of extortion and money laundering. Which explains why this guy went through the trouble to find out exactly how the industry is regulated (or more accurately, not regulated.) He writes, in regards to the common practice of holding belongings hostage in order to charge up to double the "guaranteed rate": Believe it or not, a mover's "punishment" for stealing from you is to give back what he stole, and that's only if he gets caught and someone forces him to give it back which is no small undertaking in itself.

I know what it's like to be that mad. I spent three months trying to get my money back from Bank of America. The frustration of being victimized by a business legitimized by the government is incomparable. So when I started hearing horror stories about movers - they take forever, you pay more than they say, they break things, they lose things - I really wasn't sure what to do. Then, my neighbor recommended Delancey Street Moving company. He said he'd done three cross-country moves, two were horrible experiences but the one with Delancey was great. He said "you wouldn't believe the care these guys took with my things."

I looked them up online and discovered that it's a Bay Area based non-profit that helps ex-cons (and the like) learn skills, get sober and do whatever else it takes to "graduate" into society. The foundation's website says that The Delancey Street Moving Company is the largest independent moving company in Northern California. "Known for its swift and superb service, the moving company is so popular that they do virtually no advertising, relying on word of mouth." Certainly a refreshing change from the hard sell of these other companies wanting to provide me a quote and get me to sign on the dotted line.