7/30/02

Why I'm Moving To Plumas County

A Change of Scenery, and Maybe Also a Soul


It’s simple, really. Something had to give.


I’ve just been laid off from Silicon Graphics. Again. That’s two layoffs too many from the same company, which feels like the universe whispering, Hey, maybe it’s time to go.


Meanwhile, my long-term relationship has quietly fizzled out—not with fireworks or slammed doors, just the slow fade of something that once mattered more than it does now.


And Santa Cruz? Beautiful, yes. But busier by the minute. These days I can hear the morning traffic sliding through my bedroom window, and that’s in Felton—a place once so quiet you could hear your own thoughts echo off the redwoods.


I love my house there. I really do. It’s held more good memories than I could count, if I were the sort of person who counted memories.




But.

(There’s always a “but.”)


There are ghosts in those walls too. A long, bitter battle with a contractor over major renovations left a sour taste I can’t quite scrub out. Add in a looming mortgage and a year of uncertain income, and the math starts looking pretty grim.


Then there was the stranger.


A chance encounter, the kind that feels like nothing until it isn’t. I bumped into someone—just a random conversation, one of those tossed-off exchanges that somehow sticks—and it turned out they were looking for a place to rent in the area.


One discussion led to another… and just like that, I was out. The decision that had been circling for months landed with a quiet thud.


It was the nudge I didn’t know I was waiting for.


So: Quincy.


Will it solve anything?

Will it quiet the noise, shake off the ghosts, reboot the system?


Honestly, I don’t know.


But sometimes the only way out is through a new front door.


7/14/02

And So It Begins.

The Whim That Stuck


Well, I did it.


I bought a house. In Quincy, California.


It has a creaky entry, a roof that looks like it’s held together with good intentions, and a view that will inspire absolutely no one.


I’m not moving there just yet—give me a few weeks to pack up my old life—but the deal is done. No turning back.


New city. New life. New chapter. Cue the dramatic music.


Was this a carefully planned decision?


Absolutely not. It was a whim. A nudge from the universe. A whisper that said, Why not?


And now here I am, trying to organize my entire existence on a three-week timeline. Plotting a future in a neighborhood I’ve only driven through once. Wondering if this house is a Rorschach test I’m supposed to live inside.


WTF am I doing?


Honestly? I have no idea.


But I’m doing it anyway.