chapter 1 California Dreamers Moving isn’t just about packing up your stuff. You have to figure out what you’re keeping, what you’re getting rid of, where it’s going, how you’re going to transport it and so on. Fortunately for me, the answer to all of these questions involved the trunk of my car in one way or another, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Still, anytime you move you’re forced you to look over everything you have, especially stuff you don’t look at every day. Old birthday cards….mementoes of everything from baseball games to concerts….old love letters…things that are or were relevant in your life. The past, present and the future seemed to come together in a weird collection of seemingly irrelevant junk. But that lewd birthday card reminds you of the awesome time you had with your girlfriend on your birthday. The postcard from Rome reminds you of the time your little sister took to write and send it. The announcement your uncle sent you from his award winning art show reminds you of how important it
actually made you feel. You look at it all and realize that none of it is irrelevant. Quite the opposite, in fact. I had packed pretty much everything I wanted to take with me into the trunk of my car but I couldn’t believe how much stuff I had…and I'm a guy who doesn’t even have a bed or a couch. Although the golf clubs took up more room than I would have liked. There’s something odd about packing all your possession up though. Even if I had just been moving to another apartment looking at everything you own is almost surreal, as if it’s a physical indicator of how much you’ve accomplished. And if those were the terms I hadn’t accomplished much since my possessions boiled down to some clothes and some books. At the moment though, I was happy about that fact since it made for a pretty painless packing experience. What was also fairly painless was saying goodbye to everyone, which was actually kind of surprising. I mean, I had quit my job and moved out of my apartment. I was actually doing this. I was just picking up and going. I didn’t really know where I was going or if I’d even be back. I figured people would be telling me how they thought it was a bad idea or thought it was the coolest thing in the world or thought I’d be killed in some grisly manner…all of which were legitimate arguments. For the most part though people didn't have too much to say. Everyone came out for one or several last drinks, but my bar friends just treated it like it was a formality. Like I just bought a house in the suburbs and wouldn’t be seeing people as much anymore. My work friends were a bit more curious about what I was going to be doing with myself but whenever people from work get together eventually all everybody talks about is how screwed up work is and how much everyone wanted to leave. And they did. Well, except for me of course. I was just there to drink so I had a good time. Nonetheless, it was good to