Up in Flames

“Isn’t California on fire?” the woman taking our photo demands as my parents and sister shuffle into a line in front of the lit-up Charlottesville sign. It’s my last night in Virginia, and I’ve requested at least one family photo before I leave. Not just California, my entire damn life is going up in flames.

I started apartment hunting in late November. By January 16th, the day I began my cross-country road trip, I still hadn’t signed a lease. I’d found a job I thought I was perfect for — not a peep from them in over a month. My friend driving out with me had been sending texts about changing plans, wondering if we should push the road trip. Then California lights on fire. Awesome.

My final week as a barista, my coworkers were insistent I was making a mistake.

“You have no lease, no job, no friends or family. Why would you go?”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Whatever you’re searching for, you’re not going to find it in California.”

I like to think it was coming from a place of them looking out for me - but when I got home to my dad reiterating how I was making a mistake, I broke down.

However, if you know me, you know I’ll sell my left arm to prove someone wrong. In fact, it’s often my biggest motivator. I woke up at 4a.m. everyday for a high school job just because my parents told me I wouldn’t. And let’s be real — I spent two summers living in a tent on a river. Do I really need an apartment?

So, I packed up my life and started driving. The irony lies in my final night, when I announced that I’d accepted how adult life comes down to solving endless storms of problems, and that the fun times are permanently over. My sister argued that every once in a while, things fall into place at just the right time. I called BS.

Two days later, I received an email from a friend, asking if I was interested in a grant writing position. That same day, I was approved for the apartment I’d been after, along with my two roommates.

I hate when Claire is right.

I arrived in San Diego 72 hours ago, to a smoke filled sky, but a beautiful house, and even better - a job contract. Today, the skies are clear, the sun is toasty, and Cinder spent the morning running up and down the beach.

If I’ve learned anything from the past few years of adventures, it’s that rocking the boat is terrifying. It’s not just the overwhelming challenges leading up, or even the impending loneliness that comes with going against the grain. It’s arriving in California with your car brakes making unspeakable sounds and a notification that San Diego is riddled with fires, pulling up to an intimidatingly empty house, where you curl up on a camping bed pad and hope for the best. The moment of what the fuck have I done?

And yet, after years of squiggles - moving to Colorado, to Spain, adopting Cinder, rafting - I’ve built unrelenting faith in myself. Beyond my iron will to force the logistics into place, I’m confident that I know how to make sound choices for myself. While Present Claudia is a bit overwhelmed, if not terrified, I’m putting all my trust into Past Claudia’s decision to move here. She knew what she was doing when she announced that San Diego would be her new home, and she’s never let me down.

Silver Linings