One of my favorite writer-poet-philosopher-bloggers is Alexandra Jones. I stumbled across her work by accident one day while browsing h. brown’s SF Bulldog site. You need to read her material to gain an appreciation of her skills at observation and self-reflection.
Lately, she’s been contemplating the possibility of leaving San Francisco. I do not purport to know why because it isn’t in my nature to questions the things that are none of my business. But I fully understand a need for change now and then.
In the prosaic world of efficiency experts, a rule widely known is that any change, no matter how slight, is followed by a boost in morale and an increase in efficiency. In some cases, a change may involve no more than rearranging a few desks.
Better morale and a bump in efficiency may last only a short while, but the theory says that some increase is better than no increase. Even a short spike in morale is good.
I believe that change in life is also good. We all have experienced an almost overpowering desire, even a need, for change in a job, a residence, the groups we hang with, or even a change in our personal habits as we strive to give up cigarettes or booze. Variety does seem to spice up our lives.
Many times I’ve felt a strong desire to live elsewhere. I summed up my aberration one day with the observation that “I always want to be where I ain’t.” Life then seemed to be a never ending search for “ain’t.”
American culture encourages our underlying nomadic tendencies. We aren’t too far from hunting and gathering, as we pick up and move as readily as a clan on the plains of Outer Mongolia, disassembling its yurts and moving to another location with the seasons or the availability of food.
In today’s business world, we are like those clans. We pack our belonging and move to another city according to the availability of jobs or our desire for a promotion. No longer is a lengthy list of previous employment on a resume a negative mark. We all understand. Most of us have done the same things for the same reasons.
Occasionally we want to move because we have suffered a tragedy and feel a strong need to escape the triggers that remind us of something we do not wish to remember. Some argue that we must remain and face our problems. We need to just get over it.
Most who make this argument haven’t suffered too many tragedies themselves. They are usually therapists who get paid to present their expertise to us in one-on-one sessions in which they say things like “That’s interesting.” Every time I offer this criticism to a psychologist friend his inevitable response is “That’s interesting.” Unfortunately, advice to remain and face our unhappy memories assumes that our desire to forget them represents a defect within us, and therapists get paid handsomely to fix defects.
I am of the school that says screw you, Jack, I’m outa here. Hit the road. Cyclopic, Arizona, calls. Wild burros and aged hippies don’t proffer useless advice. Let the good times roll around again somewhere else.
With one caveat. If a wandering nature harms an innocent child, you are bound by the laws of common decency to avoid harming it, even at the risk of your own itching skin.
In my own case, my moods and my itchy feet are affected by light and dark. Alaska is a place to avoid. Some places in California are desirable, like Palm Springs. Vegas is okay, and so are some parts of Arizona. San Francisco is problematic in the winter. When the sun shines, you can’t beat it.
Hawaii is usually good, although extended rainy spells seem to roll around without warning. Portland is even wetter and cloudier. Avoid Astoria, Oregon, where the Columbia River empties into the Pacific. Arnold Governator may have been a great substitute teacher in Astoria, but he wasn’t there long enough to come down with a case of mold-encased crotch.
In foreign countries, shun some places during the wet seasons. Typhoons abound in Japan, the Philippines, Guam, and Taiwan. In many spots in Asia, the rains come along and remain for weeks or months on end.
I fully support Alexandra’s decision whether she decides to remain in San Francisco or move somewhere else. But if she should ever ask, I would suggest a look at el Sobrante. There isn’t much there except the San Pablo Dam Road that winds through the hills. A drive along empty roads is wonderfully relaxing.
But in the final analysis, we belong where we believe we belong. It’s a personal choice. We aren’t qualified to judge anyone but ourselves, unless the other is a politician, any politician.
Post Script. I need an immediate change. I’m sick and tired of MS Word 2007 crashing. The latest crash this morning deleted the post I had labored mightily to produce for today. Change is good.
[…] if I know, ever knew, or ever will know. Thanks again to Robert Solis https://robertsolis.wordpress.com/2008/01/26/where-do-we-belong/ for identifying me as one of [his] “favorite writer-poet-philosopher-bloggers.” Must add that […]