Bex in the City — Not Really
One year and four months ago I left San Diego and moved to Los Angeles. At the time it seemed like a HUGE transition. Leaving my comfy and bucolic small/big town to work in TV felt almost as huge as moving from Washington D.C. in 1997, with my husband and two year old son, Miles, for a house in La Jolla and a view of the ocean.
I got settled in L.A. I biked to work at Paramount Studios, drifting calmly through beautiful Hancock Park. Found a routine. Adopted a dog. I even started looking to buy a condo or house. I thought I’d be set in L.A. forever. But you know the saying, “Man plans, God laughs.” (Although it should be “Woman plans, God laughs,” as most of the women I know do all the planning.) Anyway, I got laid off from the #1 daytime talkshow — budget cuts — the world as I thought it would be was turned on it’s side.
I started looking for work. I found a few opportunities — none were steady though. And none what I really wanted to do. So, I did what I’ve done in the past when I feel shaky and afraid of my career faltering, I flew to NYC to push and prod my contacts and see if I couldn’t drum up some love and maybe even a story assignment or two. I got more than I’d bargained for — NYC offered me my dream job.
Next month, I will leave the state that has been my home for 18 years, and I will travel to New York to live in midtown Manhattan, with my dog, Mocha, and work for FOX News Latino.com — my dream job. I’ll be a staff writer/editor covering Lifestyle.
That said, I really didn’t want to go at first. I felt scared (terrified actually) and guilty about leaving my family on the West coast. I’m a person who dreads making wrong decisions. I asked everyone in my inner-circle what I should do.
My ex-husband advised to take the bull by the horns. “Get a good coat,” he said. “You’ll see Miles as much as you do now.”
My therapist told me to tell myself what I’d tell my son. “Don’t let fear and guilt stop you from accepting opportunities that you’ve worked hard for.”
My sister said NY is an adventure. “People would die to have the chance to work in NY in a job they love.”
My best friend Jamie said, “If it’s meant to be, it will be. Like all things. If you don’t like New York, you can always move back.”
My best friend Jenn said, “I think it’s wonderful. You have to take it!”
My son said, “I just want you to be happy Mom. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
Finally, after painful debate, I told myself I’d earned this job. I’d worked really hard for it. I really wanted to do it, and if not now, then when.
I gave myself permission to be a little bit selfish. I wasn’t my mother abandoning her daughter at age three, or my dad moving around mindlessly from house to house, thinking he can outrun himself and find real happiness in yet another dwelling. I was me. A woman who is afraid and anxious and not as confident as she should be, but also capable, loving, thoughtful, and deserving of happiness.
I’m getting a good coat and some warm boots. I’m NOT a real-life Carrie Bradshaw. Money will be tight, but I’ve never been one to spend a lot on clothes.
It may not be forever, but it’s a means to an end — and guaranteed it will be an adventure. I will have a large sofa and an air mattress, and all are welcome. But I sure will miss the weather in California.
