Well, my vacation in California has come to a close — albeit, I mainly did work through the 10 days I was here. It was great to see my parents and my brother again, but it made me realize that once I fly back to New York, my mom and dad will be 2,700 miles away from me, physically. I love my parents to death, and as they get older and I awkwardly squirm my way into adulthood, it makes me sad that I haven’t spent that much time with them. I love it when I drive my mom places. I love it when I watch television with my dad. I love just being around them (well, to an extent). It was so much easier to do that on a simple trip back home to Chicago — just a 2-hour flight or a 12-hour drive. Now they’re in California, and I’m not as easily accessible to them in their now waning years. But that’s growing up, you know? My brother constantly looms over me the paranoia of their eventual passing, and I’m worried that one day I’ll get that dreaded, emergency phone call and have to rush all the way to the West Coast from New York. It’s going to happen, I know, but nowadays that fear rears it’s ugly, inevitable head from the back of my mind.
And this brings me to this realization: can I move to California… eventually? New York has been fun and has clearly taken years off my own life with the stress, anxiety, and hustle, but I can envision myself moving to Los Angeles in a few years. I can see myself shedding all the worry about money and friends and cramped living and an obligated social life, in exchange for a more comfortable life in the West Coast. More importantly, I’ll be there for my family. I’ll be there for my mom and dad. Until I figure this whole “living as an independent adult, financially, emotionally, and socially” — in other words security — down, I’ll patiently wait till they day I feel comfortable to be comfortable in California.