Views from the Other Ocean

I love September. It is the month of new beginnings. Maybe this only feels true for people who love school-or love for their children to finally be back in school. Where I grew up classes always began the day after Labor Day. It has been years since I bought school supplies for my son, but during the first week of every September, I now buy my own black-marbled Composition Books, a set of 12 Sharpie colored markers, Uni-ball micro point pens, highlighters, tape and Kleenex. They promise me a fresh start.

    This September confuses me. It marks the end of my time in Northern California. When I arrived in May, time felt expansive and limitless. Everything was freshly green and in bloom. Now on the headlands the grasses are beginning to brown and brittle leaves blow down the hillsides. The air here has already been cool and crisp for most of the summer. There is no hint of fall riding a single cool current on a hot day. That is what happens in September on Hilton Head. I keep waiting for that jolt of buoyant energy that says, "It's coming!" I'm not used to feeling wistful or ambivalent about the arrival of my favorite month.

    To jump start my energy, I cleaned the small apartment, meticulously ordered the junk drawer, stacked the Tupperware container and lids, alphabetized the books on the bookshelves and hung everything on matching hangers in the closets. There is some vague uneasiness that I am leaving something important undone.

What have I not done during my time
here in Northern California?
I didn't find the man of my dreams who would change the course of my life. (What? I don't even want to be rescued!) I did have a nice-if minor-flirtation that convinced me it's not all over.

I did not find a pretty, cozy place to retire with a view of the mountains and water for under $500 a month.

I did not learn all the names of unfamiliar bushes and flowers on my walk. I do know that the California Poppy is the state flower.

I did not finish my book. I do have a tangible-even hefty-first draft I can work on for a long time.

I did not become a wise woman with a perennially light and abundant heart who is free of all worries and fears. I did meet several women who inspired me. One gave me a crystal I will always keep.
I did not win the California Lottery.

    Did I think that my life would radically change in my time away? I don't think so, but I'm not always attuned to my unconscious magical thinking. Maybe, secretly, I have never given up on fairytales and surprise endings. On the plane ride from Savannah to San Francisco, as I transported myself out of one life into a wholly unfamiliar one, I silently repeated my new mantra (taken straight from a current toothpaste commercial), "Life opens up when you do." Did I think, in collusion with destiny, I was not only headed to California but on my way to reinventing my life? I'm not sure.

    What I do know is I am returning to Hilton Head as myself. I still have the banana clip and same hair style. I won't really understand the significance of my time away until I've been back for a while. I wanted to discover if I had the temperament and discipline to put in the long, solitary hours to be a writer. I do and I did. Whether I can be good is a different question. I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone and activate a "sink or swim" problem-solving mentality. I got to come to a beautiful new place and feel curious and adventuresome. My synapses were required to keep snapping and I feel I've done my part to ward off Alzheimer's.for this year.

    Sitting alone at my computer high in the Sausalito hills, with a view to the harbor and beyond to the Bay, I gained the perspective to look back on my life.with all its successes and dislocations and ruptures. and most importantly, its joys. Every morning when I turned on my computer, and every evening when I stopped, the same hummingbird always came to the deck and tapped on the sliding glass door and then hovered around the fuchsia. My mother's name is Joyce, my father called her Joyous. In Native American lore, the hummingbird represents joy and it has always been my symbol for my mother. August 1st was the 10th anniversary of her death. But my mother has been with me, supporting and encouraging me all summer long.

    Maybe September is simply the month for me to come home and feel lucky and grateful for all of it.