It was a fluke that I found you. We were supposed to be in Puerto Rico in October 2017 but Maria hit and Southern California was as close as we could get to a tropical vacation. On a beach in La Jolla I suggested to Amir that we get a home here. I thought she was kidding but two years later, here we are, he tells the kids.
San Diego, you were mine before we knew it and I was yours, too. We belonged to each other the night before Thanksgiving 2018 when I finally realized that I could escape the cold and muck I’d become accustomed to. We belonged to each other before when I dragged Amir to a theme park hotel in Old Town and, the next day, found our home. You were there for me the month I spent here alone. You chuckled your sunshine onto me as I filled our home with succulents. You embraced my kids and they loved you right back.
I’d like to tell you about Richmond, Virginia. Richmond is smaller than you are, San Diego, but it’s no less vibrant. Richmond is full of creative, determined, beautiful minds. I know that I often return from her with my energy drained. It’s not Richmond’s fault. It’s layers of choices and the hazards of life.
I’m heading out tomorrow. I’m going back for a few weeks and back again a few weeks later. I’ve purchased a home there that I’ve never seen. My larger, older house is under contract. I’m working on finding the balance between letting go of and keeping the things I love.
I touched the Carillon before I left, so don’t worry about me leaving you. We struggled for a bit but you and I were never wrong. We’d finally found our groove when the virus hit. What a time for a global pandemic, right? Maybe it was for the best, yours or mine or someone else’s. It’s been a long time since I judged a thing and I’d rather not start now.
Life is fluid, California. It took me a long time to learn that and I came to you partly because you seemed to already know. Please stay light and full while we’re gone. I can’t wait to get married in your arms.
Love.
Alison
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