Dear [Insert Your Name]:
The holidays have come and gone. The proverbial yule log has been burned, the nicely wrapped gifts have been unwrapped, and the hangover from ringing in the New Year has finally subsided.
It's that time of year to write down the pertinent details of one's life and distribute them via bulk email or the continually dying art of a paper letter.
This, I realize, is neither.
In case you hadn't noticed, I moved to California, which brings me to my next point: a lot happened in 2011. I will do my best to summarize in short, cheery paragraphs.
In a clumsy and rather brisk fashion, I uprooted from Massachusetts to San Francisco and transitioned from a would-be teaching career to working at a restaurant. (Remember that time when I chuckled in conversation with you and said undoubtedly that I would never wait tables?)
It's going fairly well at this point, and by 'fairly well', I mean there have been no physical altercations or verbal abuse thus far. I don't know how long the restaurant interlude will last, but I'll stick with it for now and do my best to refill Diet Cokes and hurriedly fetch sides of mayo.
I live in the thriving cultural hotspot of the Haight, where, decades before me, people my parents' age traipsed around in bell-bottom jeans speaking of things like free love and the unjust government, all the while passing around copious amounts of drugs. The drugs are still there, but the aged hippies now have jobs and drive Priuses. In their stead are snarky, smelly twenty-somethings who play their tuneless guitars and condescendingly beg for money.
After landing in San Francisco at five p.m., I met with my future landlord two hours later, and somehow through the jet-laggy haze convinced her I'd be able to make rent. So with a bit of good fortune, I now live with my best friend Nate and a South African named Kyle in a Victorian house complete with original floors, crown molding, high ceilings, and a finicky bedroom door I quite literally have to slam shut each night.
And as sunny day rolls into sunny day, I'm reminded that this change of scenery was the right move. Especially when I hear that temperatures are in single digits back home, making exposed flesh a hazard and any outdoor activities seem like far too much work.
I survived my first earthquake in October, which registered a 3.6 on the Richter Scale. While on the phone with a college roommate, I was formally baptized a Californian when, following the preemptive shudder, my apartment abruptly shifted a few inches one way and a few inches the other.
My mother recently sent me a copy of a Christmas letter I wrote to Santa in elementary school. It made me laugh. And it reminded me of a simpler time when there wasn't as much worry, as much unwarranted stress.
But more importantly, it reminded me that it's not always best to get caught up in the uncertainty; that those things will eventually work themselves out.
Because we're all still kids. It's just some have chosen to forget it quicker than others.
Without further ado, I give you the cheery, happy indifference of a fifth grader:
Christmas List
Santa, for Christmas I'd like a real lightsaber (not a plastic one), only for show and defense. I'd also like 2 real, working, and can move, imperial speeder bikes from Star Wars, with a control panel like a remote control like it would have a cloaking device. I want two because I want to race up to Kollin's house and give him one.
I would like you to fix our VCR too. Can you wake me up and I could show you what's wrong with it. I will be sleeping on the sofa by the tree. You can put anything else you want to in my stocking and bag.
Have a nice Christmas!
PS- Hope to see you tonight
PSS- Sorry if there isn't enough room under the tree.
So begins a new year with more unknowns and newfound challenges and my exploration of the vast, golden coast. But I'm okay with the uncertainty, because it's all to be learned from.
And I'm eager to see what's next.
All the best.
Unfaithfully Yours,
Alex.
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