I’ve had an interesting first week of funemployment. I’ve taken to sleeping in until 8:30 (as much as I can with a little Cheddar kitty stepping on my face, poking me and standing on me to see if I’m alive, burying under the covers next to me, and nearly mauling my arm, then cuddling it, then mauling it again.) I enjoy my morning coffees, until my coffee machine must, too, be packed away. I’ve cleaned out old work notebooks, which helped to unclutter my mind. I waved goodbye to those things I needed to know about the things for my clients. Bye, Felicia.
I’ve made considerable progress in the seemingly never-ending and daunting task of packing. I’ve returned to the gym on a daily basis again, which is doing wonders for my mood. Good old endorphins. I have had productive days, but there are definite moments of this:
All of my worldly possessions, fitting in my 419 square foot apartment, are enduring my merciless sorting process, of whether they get to go to Seattle or not. I’m also doing this on a subconscious level, with baggage in my mind, and in my life. Some things will go with me, some won’t. As I said in my farewell email to coworkers and colleagues:
“Some things are over /
Some things go on /
And part of me you carry /
Part of me is gone.”
– Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, “Walls”
It’s not easy, changing jobs and moving cities. I’m definitely more stressed with this move than I was with my move to Australia. Firstly, I had a job in Australia when I landed with my firm – and I knew what to expect from that job. This time, I’m leaving my employer and its comforts and pains after almost 12 years for an unknown job. Yes, I’ll have a job when I land again, but this is also the start of a new chapter in my career, where I’ll be doing different things, on the different side of the table, and with new coworkers to boot.
Secondly, I am buying a house. Now, when I landed in Australia, I had to utilize the services of a real estate agent to find an apartment, but that was nothing like buying a condo, which I am doing in Seattle. There’s this dirty little word whenever you spend a lot of money you don’t have at this exact moment… financing. While I had good credit, a signed offer letter, and good agents, I’m stretching myself to make the down payment. The savings nest egg I had in predominantly stocks took a beating the week I had to sell them to make them liquid for transferral into escrow. I haven’t even started thinking about the tax liability incurred for capital gains on those stocks. Some of my holdings quintupled in value. Ugh. I’ll be stretching myself even more with the monthly mortgage payments – they’ll be approximately $500 more per month than my current rent in San Francisco for my little shoebox. But it’ll be equity in my home, and not lining the pockets of a corrupt and greedy landlord any longer. That’s my primary purpose for purchasing, but it doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying.
Let’s not even talk about how all my furniture fills 1 room, and I now have essentially a 3 bedroom/3 bath home that needs furnishing. I hope my guests like the floor for a little while, cause that’s what they’re getting.
Sending me on my merry way in my final days in my city by the bay is the Superbowl City in downtown SF, making basically everything, harder. By, like, 10-fold. All the things. Public transport, crowds, just walking on the sidewalk is a pain, and then factor in the increased occurrence of gun-held muggings happening near Superbowl City and it’s enough to make anyone go home to stay out of the hassle.
The only thing more annoying than Superbowl City itself is what it stands for. I actually think the city spending that much on a fake city for rich people is an incredibly stupid idea, when you look at all the homeless people on the streets in tents. Given that it takes, what, like 3 weeks on average, for an opening to come up at a shelter, the homeless need real places to sleep, not under city freeways or in city parks. This fake city they’ve put up for rich sports fans will be taken down, but for the same cost, a sustainable shelter could have been erected not downtown for them. Jobs could be created to manage it. So this is all I have to say to San Francisco in its final stupid idea before I move:
Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited for the next chapter of my life. But it’s also a lottle (it’s like a little, but a lot) terrifying, and a little lonely. Cheddar gets to come along for the ride, but I’m moving from a city of comfort that I have known for many years to a place I get to learn from scratch. I love learning new cities, but it’s outside my comfort zone for sure. I don’t get to take my best friend with me. I don’t get to take the people I hang out with when I go out. I have to meet new people. Just the thought makes me cringe:
I realized today just how overwhelming this process has become, in my final days here in San Francisco. I think combining all that stress with living amidst boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling, starting to eat take out more and more because the cooking paraphernalia is packed, and reality setting in that I’m frankly terrified, has me desperately clinging to anything familiar in which I can cocoon myself. One day soon, I’ll emerge, a home-owning jobbing adulting butterfly, but today is not that day.