We did it.

We left our hearts in our San Francisco

We flew to San Francisco on Wednesday, packed up the remainder of our 26 years there (15 of them spent together, 8 spent with Sofia, 2.5 with Ginger), and are now back in Carlsbad. After two years in Southern California, we’re finally letting go and putting our SF apartment up for sale.

I don’t remember the last time I was this physically tired. We spent the first two days meeting with real estate agents and getting estimates on home fixes; the next two unearthing whatever was left in our storage areas and deciding what to keep or toss.

There was a rush of posting on NextDoor to make sure our TV, Hepa filter, rugs, stools, old lamps, and side tables got new homes. I hauled a Barbie Camper Van, 3 large bar stools, a vast collection of Lol dolls, spare silverware, wine goblets, a coffeemaker, and eight years of children’s books to the sidewalk and in the process met so many neighbors who were happy to grab them for their grandkids or their kids who’d just moved into their first apartment.

Jason kept up his teaching calls and spent the time in between walking down to the post office to mail boxes of my mom’s old crystal glasses and vintage Yoga Journals.

Together we sifted through boxes of keepsakes and documents, shredded pounds of old tax returns. Fortunately, Sofia got to hang out with three separate old friends. Unfortunately, Ginger was terrified and shaky for days. (Not to worry, she’s snoring quietly next to me now.)

It was sweet and nostalgic and utterly brutal being forced to part with many moments of Sofia’s early childhood. The books, the books were so tough — I held Clumsy Duck and Santa Duck and Ollie the Duck (Sofia had a thing for ducks as toddler) all to my chest with a sense of grief. Jason had to pry a few things out of my hands or throw them away when I wasn’t looking.

Equally tough was finding all of the little trinkets (aka detritus) that toddlers acquire and being flooded with memories. A big heart shaped rock she and Jason brought back from the beach. “Flip” the little wind-up dog that did a back flip. A random piece of marble tile that she had inexplicably saved in a jewelry box. Feathers and Mardi Gras beads and tiaras and lots of crafts with gems glued on.

The process was unsettling and also…I loved it. I love how moving forces you to look back over your life through photographs and letters and memories. We rarely give ourselves that time to stop and survey where we came from, how far we’ve come, where we are now.

My college friends and I wrote so many letters to each other over the summers. How sweet is that? And postcards! Remember postcards? Jason has a collection of postcards that he wrote to his dog as a child when he went on a family vacation. (In case you’re wondering, each postcard says roughly the same thing: Dear Jackson, i miss you sooooo much…)

I’ve also kept lots of love letters over the years. I can remember reading over old ones in the past and still feeling pangs of pain, but this time was a different experience: It’s been so much time since these relationships passed and, for the first time, I could really feel how much love I’ve received in my life. It was like I was reading them with different glasses on — the suffering 19-year-old who felt so much angst over the guy who cheated on her could now read his sincerity and confusion and didn’t skip over the words, “I did love you.” It was honestly refreshing to be this far along in my life that I can look back and see that I’ve weathered some storms and I’m more resilient than I ever gave myself credit for.

Now that we’re home, I just feel so proud of Jason and me. It feels strange to say that out loud, publicly. Because it’s something we don’t ever say as adults. But I am.

That photo above was taken a year or two before we moved into that little home on Virginia Avenue. We went through infertility there, pregnancy, bringing home our baby. Jason and his Dad built the back deck. I survived cancer. Started my podcast.

We moved all of Jason’s trainings online in the front room during the pandemic. There’s still evidence in one of those videos of how tight the living conditions were — you see me crawling under the camera in my pajamas to take Ginger out for a walk.

My pride isn’t very complicated. It’s simply that we’re still together, doing this life together. We’re doing it. It’s not easy, but it feels good.