The Long and Winding Road

 Doesn’t that picture make me look crazy?  I mean, who tows a sedan behind a ten-foot U-Haul?  No one.  Except for me.  Because I’m insane. 

But for the past three years I’ve seriously considered moving to the Bay Area from Southern California, and finally, I couldn’t sit on my dream any longer.  So many people asked me why I was moving.  After all, I’m close with my family, and we all live in LA.  I have a wonderful job, and I work with great people.  It’s hard for public school teachers to find a good gig, so when a teacher lands a plumb position at a stellar school, educators white knuckle precious tenure.  Finally, a move to the Bay meant leaving a supportive network of friends who had sustained me through the deaths of my parents, along with the lesser griefs of life.

Despite all the reasons to stay in SoCal, the Bay haunted me.  I frequently returned for vacations, and one summer, I even taught at an elite school for five weeks.  Finally I could no longer ignore my desires; in other words, the dream could no longer be deferred.  I managed to secure a new teaching position, and I rented a U-Haul truck with a camel’s head blazoned on the side panel.  (Aside: This design choice both pleased and horrified my Egyptian family.)

So, on an unseasonably cool Saturday in July, I found myself charging up the Grapevine at a record thirty miles an hour, praying that my truck wouldn’t overheat or that my sedan wouldn’t slip off the hitch and barrel into oncoming traffic.  In the truck cabin was my sidekick Susan, who took pity on my trek and volunteered to accompany me through the wilderness to the Promised Land.

At the time of our adventure, Susan’s father, who also lives in the Bay, was undergoing surgery to receive a pacemaker.  Our conversations on Highway 5 were punctuated by frequent phone calls to the hospital.  In between medical updates, we dreamed about my future, discussed Susan’s screenplay, and psychoanalyzed Susan's love life.

As the desert flashed past our windows, we frequently saw cars sidelined on the road.  Each time we saw a stalled car I clenched my steering wheel more tightly and muttered a frantic, unintelligible prayer.

Our mantra throughout the trip was, “We’re not in a hurry,” but I secretly felt the pressure of time.  I had arranged for two college friends to help me unload the truck, and I didn’t want to keep them waiting.

About halfway through the journey, Susan’s father received his pacemaker, and she cheerfully spoke to her father.  Since Susan’s father is hard of hearing, Susan yelled her medical advice through the mobile mouthpiece: 

            “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?”

            “YOU SHOULD NOT EAT THAT FOOD.  IT’S TOO GREASY!”

Three hours after the phone call, we pulled into U-Haul facility.  One customer asked me if I was moving to the Silicon Valley.

“Yup!” I happily replied.

“Are you working at Google?” he asked.

“No, I’m a teacher.”

The U-Haul employee, who overheard our conversation, laughed.  As he inspected my truck he turned to me: “The guy in LA who hitched your car to the truck didn’t do it right.”

Here’s to new beginnings…