Friends and family, some of you are already aware of what I was doing Feb 19–21. Most of you are not. I apologize for my neglect. The three days altered my life course in a powerful way. So here is a summary:
- I flew to Berlin,
- marveled (in double-decked bus-tour fashion) at the city’s sites,
- strolled the aisles of an ancient, but active flea market and purchased the kind of fairy tale trinkets that only old Europe can supply,
- visited Checkpoint Charlie (which, I am sorry to report, is in puzzling disrepair),
- spent an afternoon photographing pre-war gravestones,
- and sat in a conference room with a company I’ve long admired to virtually construct my dream job, handpicking one delightfully typographic commission at a time.
In short, it was a good time.
What this all means, dear friends, is an unexpected restewflocation. My new work, which began this week, will eventually take me to San Francisco. I will spend three more months in Stockholm, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the prodigal sun as it emerges from winter hibernation. In mid- to late-June I’ll fly back to SLC, gather my belongings, and truck it to the Bay.
When I focus on the new location, specifically Berkeley, excitement builds. The East Bay village topped my List of Potential Post-SLC Home Cities before Sweden unpredictably surfaced. After all, it’s where James and Jen are! And Berkeley is green. It has the requisite hilly terrain and proximity to wilderness to stave off a destructive pining for the Wasatch. Berkeley is young and progressive. The area newspapers are well designed. There is no shortage of concert venues or art shows. Most importantly, a move to Cali will sever the space between me and my love. It’s time to end this state of being away from Jamie. Enough, I say!
So, NoCal sounds great, yet my thoughts inevitably stray to the only home I know. It feels strange to end Sweden without a return to SLC. The nostalgic valves of my heart are the most powerful. They torture, pumping the stuff of memory and longing with alternating pangs of bliss and hurt. I despise and cling to that tenacious part of my soul. I thought this experience in the isolated north might have a numbing effect, freeze it out of me, but it only heats and sinks deeper. I feel more homesick than I thought I would. I miss things I never thought I’d miss — stuff like Maverick convenience stores and local TV news. It’s laughably sad.
To abandon thoughts of my first home is a losing battle. In some sense, I'll always roll back into that valley like a heavy marble. Instead, it helps to remember that there was never a better time to look away from SLC. The dear house that sheltered my first 21 years of life is sold — Bob and The Veig wisely abandoned endless dusting and yard work for condo luxury. There are vital friends and family left in SLC, but the future clearly points west.
Salt Lakers: I miss you all. I will see you on the way to my California home.
Photos of Berlin to appear here soon.