San Jose, California is that stinky third wheel that won't leave Alex and me alone. The leeching, unaware, noisy and perplexingly perfect embodiment of everything you don't want mucking up the little nest you're trying to build together.
And...this is a good thing.
Try not to strain your rationalization muscles, but this means the eternal battle between my city life preference and Alex's country life dreams may finally have a resolution.
Do I want to live in this place or any California metro area once our lease is up?
Take me to the people-free spaces!
I always saw myself living in some flat above a cafe or pizzeria, click clackin' in my stylish city pumps to my job up the block to to the subway around the corner.
|Yes, that's me in the red.|
Alas, I am a California girl. And I married a California boy. Illusions of public transit-riding urban grandeur have deflated more than wages in this parched land and trains are about as cool as walking.
|Oh hi commute.|
Come to think of it, Alex may be owed a bit of that wilderness.
It was Madrid where we dated: a city of nearly 6 million, capital of Spain. It was Boston where we first lived together: hub of the eastern seaboard, replete with trains and a quick bus ride to the Big Apple.
|You can practically taste the disdain.|
Both places were my idea. Husband followed dutifully.
For now, we are may be contractually obliged to live in this stoplight-ridden sprawling mess of a city but these months are prime for repaying my debt of geographic karma.
Trading heels for Sperry's, I can tolerate the (seven block) walk to the (one) local train and still keep a grip on my City Girl ideals though the days of organic city living are long gone.
And it's okay. I'm okay. Because it is a small price to pay in compensation for Alex following me across the globe the past four years.
We don't like you, San Jose, but you may be the best thing to ever happen to Alex's case for quiet rural living.