Anywhere But Here

Watching waaaay too many episodes of Selling L.A. in order to escape my life has taken its toll on me: I officially have California fever.

(Note: This could also be identified as "small town fever" in which the quaint-ness of the town you live in has worn off and you feel more like every building within the entire 3 mile radius is closing in on you, ever.so.slowly.)

After days that involve yelling at students, piles of paperwork, and wondering why so many of my coworkers still have feathered bangs circa 1985, Selling L.A. has become my refreshing escape from bad-hair reality.  I want to walk through mansions with California breezes wafting through my perfectly blown-out hair, have a job that allows me to buy 20 million dollar houses, and go to work parties that involve martinis and celebrity appearances.

Palm trees, beach walks, not having to scrape frost off of my windshield at 5:48 am....

 

A girl can dream, right?  

My mom always told me that knowing what you don't want is just as important as knowing what you do. I lived in New York and it was too big, busy, and anonymous for me. (Not to mention expensive.) I dreamed of having a yard and a big sprawling house. Now I have that, but it's nearly impossible to have work-life balance when all of your neighbors are 70 and there's not a bar for 60 miles. 

To sum it up: I miss Charlotte. It was big enough to let me know I lived in a city, but small enough that I still ran into friends at the grocery store. Friday afternoons were spent at happy hour on breezy porches and Saturday afternoons meant miles of walking through Myers Park. Wednesdays meant wine night and birthdays meant dinner with the girls. I left work at 4 pm on Friday and didn't think about it again until 8 am on Monday.

So...small town life is not for me. Charlotte, I'll see you again in a year. Until then, I'm off to Virginia Beach for the weekend to remind myself what civilization looks like.