Jordan applied to a handful of practical options for his Ph.D program. Together we agreed on cities we could see ourselves flourishing, most of them being sprinkled around the Southeast near family and friends.
The University of California, Santa Cruz was a reach school. A wildcard he threw in last minute.
I drastically underestimated the sprawling state. In my mind, California consisted of LA and San Fransisco, and at the time I knew little about what potential laid inbetween.
I convinced myself California was too expensive, too unapproachable and maybe too good to be true. It was akin to moving to places like Hawaii or New York. I unfairly wrote them off as mere tourist destinations. Somewhere with as many visitors as locals couldn’t feel familiar, could it? Oddly enough my brother in law and one of my best college friends now call those desirable states home and love how life got them there.
When he got accepted to UCSC, we were invited to orientation. The University was fitting the bill. If nothing else, we thought it would serve as a fun vacation.
Little did we know, we’d fall in love with a town we’d never heard of in a state that for so long felt out of reach.
Our quirky AirBnb was a camping trailer in someones driveway. We ate the best Mexican food from a taco window, watched a golden sunset in Big Sur, and got engaged in between foggy Redwoods. Everything about the trip invigorated my senses.
Santa Cruz is full of character – a community of mostly local businesses, surfers, artists, musicians, hippies and students from all walks of life. The Beach Boys sing about it in “Surfing, USA” for a reason.
The clean sprawling air from the Pacific Ocean pushed up against the forest filled my lungs. Just about everything grows here. Wildlife and plantlife thrive. I could see myself thriving too.
On the flight to Charlotte, I knew deep down that we’d find our way back to California.
The decision was easy on our hearts but our minds were pulling us in opposite directions. Logistically it was more challenging than our other choice of staying in the comforts of the Southeast. Not to mention more expensive. It would be the farthest we’d ever be from family in our lives. There were a handful of reasons we could have chosen the easier option. But we knew that if we did, we might loose the moxie to pick up and move across the country while there was an open invitation.
We let our lease in Charlotte expire and sold majority of our belongings six short months following our visit.
The family went on a 40-hour road trip across the country with whatever fit in my reliable Subaru.
Jordan planned the journey into two weeks spreading out our time so we could get to know the country better. Only two of those nights were spent indoors; the rest were under the stars in different parks and campgrounds.
The summer heat was at it’s thickest so we overcompensated any way we could. Hammocks were set up under the shadiest trees we could find and hikes were timed perfectly with the sunset; we dipped our toes in lakes and took turns roaming inside of Walmarts for the A/C and restrooms. It wasn’t always glamorous. The important thing was we were doing it dogs in tow and for one of the first times in our lives had no routine to speak of.
The only detail we hadn’t ironed out was where we would live once we got to California.
Prior to hitting the road we came across a promising listing. The dark and blurry photos didn’t do the cabin justice. I’m convinced they were taken on a flip phone.
Even still, the charm of the one bedroom/one and a half bath was evident. From the retro seventies floral tile in the kitchen, wood paneled walls and tall redwoods surrounding it- it checked off boxes I didn’t know I had.
With our hopes set for a site unseen, our fingers were crossed throughout the journey that we’d beat renters to signing the lease. It was a risk, probably the biggest we’ve taken but we had little choice. The other dozens rentals never got back to us about our inquiries. The market was tough then. It still is.
The cabin wound up being available by the time we reached California. To our surprise, it was set far out on top a mountain. As lovely a landlord we have, she glossed over how remote the cabin was. It was the first time I saw two-way traffic lanes merge into one. Narrow cliff-sides without guard rails were at multiple turns. For miles you lose phone service until you reach the top of the four flight walk-up. I honestly think it’s what deterred potential renters who saw it in person.
We didn’t have a chance to shy away at the ruggedness. The remote land was vastly different from anywhere we’ve visited let alone called home. With shaky hands, we welcomed the privilege and the challenge.
The untraditional journey felt both long and short to get here. One that’s felt like winning the lottery every day since.
As Jordan wraps up his PhD program and the time in our mountain town dwindles, I’ve lived and learned a lot here. Arriving five years ago has taught me this, the secret to enjoying your golden years is to appreciate and romanticize them as they are happening.
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