The Emotions of Arriving:

We arrived on a Sunday afternoon – no easy task with 17 bags – and spent most of Sunday and Monday trying to adjust to the 8 hour difference, and recover from the hectic sleepless week of packing. Once we pushed ourselves to get out and start looking for apartments on Tuesday, we quickly felt a bit overwhelmed.

I can sum up the feelings by this description:

It felt as if someone had smacked me in the face, punched me in the stomach, and ripped off my socks.



The combinations of:
- jetlag,
-the constant stream of adjustments to everything from the warm mineral water, (I somehow could not find a cold glass of spring water,)
-to the feeling of being a tourist and saying and wearing the wrong things,
-and the shock of seeing our first round of flat lettings felt like a huge shock and weight.

How and why did we give up our sweet house, and fun life in San Francisco to come to this dark place where we may have to live in an unbelievably small flat and choose from things like having either a dining room table or more than one closet.

The apartments are TINY – and the neighborhood in which we wanted to live, Marylebone, is 80% owned by one estate. This man left this estate to his 3 daughters, who then have broken it up and now rent it out. The majority of these apartments are unfurnished. Fun times for us as we just brought our clothes.

I do not want to feel as if I am complaining. I know this will get better – but the shock of it all is daunting. Going through this at times with someone else makes it a bit more difficult but all the better . Alone, I could bury myself in bed, feeling sorry for myself – as a team TJ and take turns telling the other person that it will be OK, that we will be happy here, and that it will have been worth it.

I need to express it, maybe that will help me get it out and quit my bitching:
everything is different – that is amazing and frustrating. I am tired of eating out – everything is ghastly expensive and we don’t get paid in pounds for at least a few more weeks so every dollar we take out immediately turns into fifty cents – my stomach is killing me – I cannot sleep – everyone talks to me, (or my sensitive nature makes me feel like they are talking to me,) like I am either a bit deaf or slow, I don’t know of one person besides my husband that I can call to do anything with – and I don’t know if I’ll like it yet.

Kind of like someone has slapped me in the face, punched me in the stomach and ripped off my socks.

The Emotions of Leaving:

I moved to San Francisco, on January 10th, 1998. Just over 9 years later, it is quite amazing to think of how the city changed for me, during each stage of my life. I came, not knowing anyone, single and almost on a whim, thinking I’d be in the city for only a year or two.


I went from being just out of college, single and set on returning to New York within a year or two “at most”, to dating, meeting groups of friends, to saying goodbye to groups of friends as they moved “back east”, to meeting TJ, and re-discovering the city as a part of a couple, to meet even more dear groups of “couple” friends to then saying goodbye to them one-by-one. One of the simultaneously best and saddest things about San Francisco, is that the majority of people you meet are from other parts of the country. It makes them a bit adventurous, and open to trips up to Napa, or trying a new restaurant. It also can change the city for you as you watch as group after group of friends are called either “back home” from whence they came, or to other opportunities and new adventures.

I’ve lived in the “lower Fillmore”, the Mission, Cow Hollow, Pacific Heights and lastly Bernal Heights. I learned to love living alone. I am envious of my single friends that get to come home from a long day out, make themselves exactly what they want to eat at that moment, (eggs, or avocado on toast, or a decadent piece of fish,) and be still and quiet with themselves. I used to love spending entire weekends by myself…picking a neighborhood on a map, walking there, and discovering it all day, only coming back to the apartment late in the evening – tired and fulfilled. The confidence and satisfaction of creating a life, one that I loved...one that was exactly what I wanted it to be, was a gift I will call on often in this new stage.

Upon arriving in San Francisco, my mother came and stayed with me during my first week- helping me get settled. We did a lot of sight-seeing, and discovering things like the local supermarkets and parks. When it came time for her to leave, I sensed her sadness and a bit of fear leaving me all alone, and I felt a bit of the same dread of what could have been the lonely days to come. I said goodbye to her as she got into the car for the airport – and immediately knew that I had to choose between living in that sadness, or creating a new life where there was no room for it. I allowed myself to cry for only the time it took the elevator to reach my apartment on the 14th floor.

Nine years living away from NY- felt at times like eternity, and at others just a wrinkle of my life. I am proud of living in SF and trying it on myown- and see now what a huge thing it was to move so far away from everything I knew, to a place that was so unknown. I did it on a whim. I know now why- to open my life, to gain confidence in myself, to have more adventures with friends and family up and down the west coast, and to meet TJ.

It was important to me that TJ andI leave San Francisco together. That we “say goodbye” to Gates St., and board the same plane – to the next adventure. I knew when I married him, that our lives would be full, and rich with laughter. I knew not how or where we would go- but I knew that it would not be anything short of spectacular. This is just the beginning.

Snow - Not in Tahoe!

The bad news: We are living in a ground floor studio, corporate housing flat, that's noisy, a bit cold and filled with 17 bags of luggage.



The good news: Fun thing that happened today...it snowed! We bundled up in our hats, scarves and gloves and headed out. The city goes nuts and all trains are delayed. It's beautiful!

First Day of Work = Bonjour!

After arriving on a Sunday - I received word from my company that my first day of work - would take place in Cannes, France. I put aside my sheer exhaustion and boarded the plane.

Not too shabby!