I arrived in California on October 1, 2012. In the 14 months since then, I have the following observations. I’ll try to keep these going as I think of more stuff.
1. The weather is really nice. Not quite as nice as advertised, but still better than nearly anywhere else.
2. The cult of technology is tremendous. I’ve used Google and Facebook for almost 10 years, but I look at them completely differently now that they’re right around the corner. They’re more than just websites here; they’re rearranging the social order in some places.
3. There is more good food here than I know what to do with. Just in a 10-minute walk’s radius of my non-hip corner of Palo Alto, I have a 24-hour donut shop, a Thai restaurant, a deep-dish pizza joint, two Mexican restaurants, two Chinese restaurants, a Jamba Juice, a Starbucks, a Korean barbecue place, a Belgian beer bar, and yes, a Subway. And I’m not in one of the neighborhoods most people have heard of.
4. In most respects, it’s significantly more expensive. My rent tripled between Virginia and the Bay Area. Gas at the station at the end of my block is 40 cents more than in a town 4 miles away. Plus there are tolls and higher taxes and all that. Salaries are higher here, but it doesn’t totally make up the difference.
5. Public transit options are incredible. If I want to (and I have), I can ride my bike five minutes to the train station, ride the train for free (thanks, Stanford!) and get around San Francisco on two wheels. Or I can transfer to BART and ride over to the East Bay. Or take one of the many bike lanes around Palo Alto and surrounding area. It’s wonderful to be able to leave the car at home even more than I did in Williamsburg.
6. I’ve enjoyed going to more pro sports than I ever had before. Since moving here, I’ve been to seven San Francisco Giants games, four Golden State Warriors games and a 49ers game. Candlestick is by far the worst facility, but that’s changing soon. And while I’ve adopted the Warriors as my NBA team (FOR NOW!) I have remained a faithful Seahawks fan. The Mets, well, they’re something I’m stuck with.
7. Williamsburg, institutionally, is a city obsessed with the past. The past makes the tourists come, and W&M trades on its history extensively. The Bay Area (especially my subset, Silicon Valley) is obsessed with the future. There’s something missing in both these approaches, and I’m hoping to come to some sort of insight at some point. But that’s the extent of my deep thinking so far.
In a nutshell, I like it here. It’s not perfect, nor is it the be-all, end-all the way people like to treat it out here. But I feel fortunate to be here at this time, observing the changes that the Bay Area is exporting to the rest of the world. (Those changes aren’t all good, either, but that’s another story.) Will it ever be home? Time will tell. But I don’t regret the move.
“All those folks uniting – for most of every year – behind one cause. For a region as atomized as this one, that’s a considerable something.”
-from “Always Crying Foul,” by Don Luzzatto in the Virginian-Pilot in September 2012
Don Luzzatto is my journalism spirit animal in a lot of ways: first, he’s a columnist and editorial board member for the Pilot (my erstwhile dream job). Second, we’re each an alumnus of the greatest university in all the land. And third, he writes columns like that one.
Before my unintentional hiatus, I spent a good amount of electrons on the proposal to bring the NBA’s Sacramento Kings to my hometown of Virginia Beach. I have mixed feelings when I say the proposal failed. Sad, because I really desperately want a pro team where I’m from. Happy, because the city of Virginia Beach didn’t assume all the financial risk to make the Maloofs (widely considered some of the worst owners in basketball) even richer. The Kings will stay in Sacramento, and Hampton Roads gets nothing. Yet.
Canceling the proposal was the smart move, and while money for schools and money for sports rarely come from the same pot, essential services should always come first. What’s more bothersome, more influential, and more permanent are the attitudes Luzzatto is describing. What brings people such joy from unrelenting negativity, even in the face of solid facts? What sad undersea currents sent them on their hateful course? You see it in the 757 when it comes to light rail or pro sports or big development projects, but you also see it with national politics. Everybody knows someone who just absolutely LOVES to see their opposition party embarrass itself.
I wrote about this months and months ago, but it remains a fascination for me. Sometimes I go into the Internet rabbit hole, get really cynical, and have to watch standup comedy on YouTube to get back to a palatable mood. But I’d be interested to hear thoughts on this. Where do the naysayers come from? I’ve been cranky about lots of stuff in my day, but I like to think I still find stuff to support and encourage. Is it purely resistance to change and newness? Is it just because “no” is always safer than being vulnerable and excited about something?
In September, I turned 30. Unwilling to fully accept the adult-ness of that number, I decided to buy myself a toy: the beautiful, impressive Nintendo 3DS. And I use this beautiful, impressive, $150+ machine mostly to play Tetris, a game that first took over my life sometime around 1990.
It’s still a great game. But it made me realize something about adulthood.
In 1990, I turned 7. I’d hold the massive, AA-devouring Game Boy in my hands and drop each piece into place for hours — as did my mom and my grandpa. As far as I could tell, the game gives you a random sequence of pieces. If you don’t get the crucial long piece when you need it, your whole plan is ruined and you lose. That’s just how the cookie crumbles when you’re 7.
Now, I play and sometimes I find myself getting mad at the designers of the game for giving me four of those blasted square blocks in a row. Don’t they know I can’t possibly find a place for ALL of them? How unfair. It’s like they’re intentionally screwing me over. I’m being dealt a biased hand. At 30, I felt victimized by Tetris.
And then I realized that it’s this exact attitude that people see in Millennials. Seeing this, I have tried to be more mindful. Sometimes life is unfair, and you have to deal with it. You don’t always get the long piece when you want it. Maybe it’s okay just to get little one-liners and two-liners until you’re ready. Don’t hate the game; play it smarter and don’t bank on the jackpot.
Current high score: 319,628 (A-Type, level 9: the only way to play).
“Learning that your life isn’t some glorious plan, and that you aren’t the smartest, most talented person in the world is a great way to stop being an arrogant jerk. I think I was, back then, whatever my intentions to be good. I took for granted that I was better than other people. Now I know, absolutely know, that I am not.”
from Goblinbooks: I Am A Bizarre Minor Character In Tina Fey’s Book, by Paul Bibeau
Over the summer, I read Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings, which is in large part a fictionalization of what Paul Bibeau describes in that quote. It hit me hard, and I’ve spent the last few months recommending it to anyone who asks, and many who don’t. It affected me because it drew me into a real, honest discussion about talent with myself. Not everyone is good enough for the heights of the creative professions; many of them aren’t lucky enough to even get a shot. My many aborted novels speak more to the former category than the latter (sorry, NaNoWriMo!)
Suffice it to say that this quote encapsulates something I’ve spent much of the last year thinking about. I gave up on the Stanford certificate this past spring just as I was emerging from the fog that haunted my first few months in California. I lost steam on the novel I was working on, and then The Interestings came along. It’s hard not to have to look your own talent in the face once in a while, and I was overdue. As a writer, I was discouraged, and turned away from it. And after that, without noticing, I had a pretty good year.
I spent time with a dear friend yesterday who I see once a year around Thanksgiving. I thought back to the last time we got together, and how that edition of myself seems like a thousand light-years away. I’ve become stronger and better in the interim, and it takes little milestones like that to bring it all into focus. I think it’s time to wade back into the writer’s pool and see if all that strength is going to be good for something.
“[Wayne] Coyne sees an analogy between basketball games and rock concerts. Playing a song for the thousandth time, he told me, is just as meaningless as putting a ball through a hoop. Under the right circumstances, however, those things take on great collective meaning. ‘It’s that idea of everybody being focused on the same thing at the same time and being together in the bigger experience,’ he said. ‘It’s silliness, but all things are like that.’
from “The Oklahoma City Thunder’s Fairytale Rise,” by Sam Anderson at the New York Times
Hello, fans of my long-dormant blog machine. BK here, sitting at my desk and/or command center in beautiful Palo Alto, California. This is where I live now. Sorry for the lack of warning.
I left my job of six years at William & Mary in early September. As anyone who has talked to me for more than 30 seconds knows, W&M has meant the world to me since I was 17. That won’t change. But I had said for a long time that I wanted to go on an adventure while I was young, or else I’d regret it forever. So 18 days before my 29th birthday, I started my solo road trip to California.
In seven days I saw eight states* and even managed to see some friends along the way. I started at 36.884127 N, -75.98678 W and ended at 36.867536 N, -121.81881 W — you can very nearly draw a horizontal line between my Atlantic beginning and the end at the Pacific coast. I spent four days after that in California trying to find an apartment — and did, thanks to Christina and Paul. Then I flew back East to visit my ninth state (what up, Greensboro!) and watch six dear friends get married. In three separate ceremonies. Don’t get any ideas. I started work at Stanford on October 1st and I’ve been here ever since. I haven’t even been to the other side of the bay yet.
You might be wondering how I could leave my beloved 757 after spending so much time thinking and writing about it. So am I.
In moving west, I had to leave behind a place that I love that was full of people that I love even more. It’s just as hard as you might think it would be, after 24 years of living in Virginia. My roots are strong and deep and will stay that way. From just my desk, I have three Hampton Roads wall hangings in my living room. My heart will always be there, and I will still be paying attention. But I’m starting to settle in here in California and I think this adventure will go a long way toward helping me get closer to the person I want to become. I am grateful for everyone back home who helped me get this far. Come visit!
Leave your favorite California song in the comments.
*Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California.
Today, Norfolk’s Inside Business reported that the NBA’s Sacramento Kings would announce next Wednesday (!) their upcoming move to my hometown of Virginia Beach. Naturally, the curmudgeons of the Hampton Roads sports universe reflexively began to cry “never gonna happen” and tell the sad tales of rhinos, hornets and Youppi! (Points to Dave Fairbank of the Daily Press for a thoughtful e-mail response to my request for positivity, though.)
That’s what I want: positivity. Every time this happens, we hear the chorus of haters who seem only to want the almighty having-been-right-all-along. If that’s what you want, I pity you. Here’s what else I want: pro sports in the 757.
A professional sports franchise in Hampton Roads would be transformative to the regional attitude. It would link widely disparate communities under a common flag. Hold training camp at William & Mary. Sponsor reading programs at Tidewater Park Elementary. Gin up some local pride for the first time, maybe ever. We need it, and it doesn’t seem to be coming from anywhere else. I have my doubts, too, but there’s enough of that floating around. This region will never get anywhere fueled on doubt.
I am sad to see Sacramento lose its franchise, but you can bet I’ll spend a fortune on Virginia Beach Kings merchandise if this comes to pass. That’s a promise.
I had long phone conversations with my mom on the road, and she said, in that gentle voice reserved for mothers, “What about moving back to Dallas?”
No way. Absolutely not. What is the opposite of yes? That is my answer. A thousand-billion times no.
The knee-jerking was a little extreme. But when you construct your meaning from things outside of you—the cool job you have, the music and the movies you enjoy, the vintage brush of the funky corduroys you wear—then you are bound to live in cities on the Approved List, which Dallas certainly was not.
— from “Nobody Says I Love You Anymore,” by Sarah Hepola for the Dallas Morning News
Thanks to Will for this gem.
A scrap of paper blows down the street like a tumbleweed and lands on your leg. You look at it: an admissions letter from the NYU creative writing MFA program. Then it hits you. You are the last human left on earth. Everyone else has gone to graduate school.