A few days ago, as we strolled down a street festival in Berkeley, Ted turned to me and said, "when we imagined our lives together ten years ago did you think we'd ever leave Manhattan with our two girls and find ourselves happy in California?" And no, I have to admit that not in my wildest dreams did I think we'd ever leave NYC. Yet here we are as far away from the east coast as we possibly can be, and happier as a family than we've ever been. This outdoor life suits us, I can see the girls unfurling like flowers towards the west coast sun, and I see us pausing to appreciate the moment, any moment, every moment. We've driven down to Big Sur, up to Sonoma and Napa, gone camping twice, and traversed the Golden Gate Bridge more times than I can count. But it's not about the places we've been, or the spectacular views, or even the fact that a redwood rustles outside my windows, it's about the deep, raw feeling of contentment that I have when my head touches down on my pillow every night.
It's just happiness, pure and simple, and I can't really do justice to the feeling with words, so perhaps a few photographs of our past year on the west coast might help.