A Room of One's Own

I write this, finally, from my Home Office in San Diego.

My bronze Ganesh statue sits smugly on my left, a drained coffee mug and To-Do list on my right, and in front of me, a bright orange wall. I've always wanted a bright orange wall. Behind me is the window to the back yard, which needs some work, but we've only been moved in to the house for about a month. I can hear doves cooing, finches cheeping, chickens scratching and squabbling (we have four), and a gentle breeze. On that breeze is the scent of citrus blossoms. Ripe oranges roll down the road here.

My husband got the San Diego job in October (when we heard the news, it felt like winning the lottery) and we've spent the past five months house hunting and living with the in-laws - an intense time. No matter how lovely in-laws are (and they are lovely), it's hard to be in someone else's space. And, between them and me, there's a language barrier. Not literally, we both speak English, but every family has its own way of communicating which only makes sense to themselves. What do they say about England and America? Two countries separated by a common language. It's like that.

Having our own space, our own house, is bliss though. I'm so blissed out by it that I'm finding it hard to concentrate on work (it's so much easier to concentrate on work under a little constant stress, it turns out). It's hard to imagine that four weeks ago, when we were laboring to fill this house with boxes of our things,  I was wondering if I should seek help for depression. Yep, the stress had gotten that bad. I wasn't sure I was going to pull out of it. But, it turns out that when the situational stress is gone, I bounce back pretty quickly. And, I'm losing weight without even trying (not eating pepperoni pizza 1-2 times a week with the in-laws is a fantastic diet). I nearly hit 200 pounds this year. Those people love their carbs.

It's a bit lonely here though. My progress making friends in Orange County is a wash - have to start all over. But, my oldest friend has already come for a too-brief visit, and I can't wait to have more guests. San Diego is a much better draw for out-of-towners than OC. I'd like to think that visiting us would be the draw, but I don't kid myself. This is a lovely place. I have, however, made one new friend who is smart, well educated and articulate, and an old soul straight out of the 1920's. Ms. Pearce has definite possibilities, especially since she used the "Idiocracy" argument for why smart people should have kids (which is my argument too).

Kids are a hot topic of discussion among my friends this month. At age 29 and 30's, we're all feeling a little pressure to figure it out. And, of course, many of our friends are popping out babies like it's going out of style. I cannot relate. I have shit to do. Still, I try to be happy for them and supportive of them. And, I am so grateful to my friends who are able to give me positive perspectives on it. I have a feeling the next five years are going to be a constant battle of trying to talk myself into having kids. I want to want that. I don't. Maybe, hopefully, I'll trip and hit my head on a rock some day and it'll finally sound like a great idea.

Speaking of taking on mothering, my little half-sister is coming to live with us for 2-4 weeks this summer. She's been getting into more and more trouble, still depressed, on meds, smoking pot, seeing the therapist, almost getting arrested for stealing hard liquor with her loser friends. Our father is off playing with his new girlfriend, using little sister's drama to gain him pity points no doubt, and her mother would really rather be playing with her boyfriend and is delighted by the prospect of having a parenting vacation. I fear both parents think I can somehow magically make their kid okay. I can't. I don't expect to. My expectations are as follows:

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.

I can show her that a happy, peaceful, loving and successful life is possible. I can be the model for a better way of being. But she's got to want to get there on her own. And that probably won't happen at age 15 - maybe by age 25. The only power I have is to give her the option of living well, and act as living proof that it's possible. It's more than many troubled teens get. Still, 2-4 weeks with a depressed, angry teenager is going to be... strenuous. For both of us. Not to mention my sweet husband. I hope it will be fun too though. Best case scenario: I get to teach her what I do (she's "interning"), and teach her a few good life lessons too.