Two or three years ago, I thought about picking up my life and moving to California. I looked for academic jobs, library jobs and even started imagining how to tell my mother that I was leaving for the west coast.
I knew that I would probably never do it, but it really gave me pause. I've written about this before, but there is something about that state that seems like it would be a good place for me to go for a while. I don't know that I'm supposed to live there for years, but I think that if I got to spend a month, or even a summer, out there it would quell a lot of my curiosity and wanderlust about it.
I has sort of planned on being there in June of 2006 for what I thought would be a life altering (or at least interesting) event, but that didn't happen.
And now I know that it wasn't supposed to happen. Those fates that I wrote about a couple days ago, decided that wasn't the way I was supposed to see the state or my life.
I've come to terms with that. It has taken a long time to come to terms with it, but I have.
I wasn't brave enough to apply to any of the California schools for graduate work. Even in retrospect, it was probably all for the best. Or at least that's what I like to tell myself.
California isn't the answer to anything for me really, but I'd like to think it is. Perhaps I should call my dissertation California: Representations of Reading in Renaissance English Drama and that shitty novel I'm writing about the last couple years of my life California too. :)