My cafe au lait swayed rhythmically in the big white mug I drink from every morning, like a hula dancer’s hips, perfectly in time to the beat.
Or in this case, the rumble of the earth as a magnitude 3.3 earthquake twitched through the Presidio at 8:00 Monday morning.
My first earthquake.
While my coffee was certainly shaken, I – I am proud to say – was not.
In a few short weeks, I will be celebrating my one year anniversary of living in San Francisco and being a city girl. That celebration will include, but not be limited to, sharing a bottle of Chateau Monthelena with former roommates and good friends, rehashing my first days in the city, the bizarre color of our living room, the epic nights of bar crawling and bonfires, wine tours, moving out, moving on, men, and on and on.
I feel like I’ve lived a whole separate lifetime in just a year here, and it still seems impossible that this whole separate, glorious, wonderful life is now my actual real life. To quote another fabulous city girl, the mind reels.
I’ve had the worst job of my life (MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.) and a job so wonderful I couldn’t have dreamt up a better one. I moved in with random strangers, terrified I was making a horrible choice, and ended up with two wonderful women who will always be my friends. I’ve dined with dignitaries, a diplomat, a reality TV celebrity, ravers, crackheads, hippies and a New York Times bestselling author.
There have been moments over the past year that have cause so many internal earthquakes – leave or stay, move or don’t, get out or dig in – that I felt I had no choice but to grab on and wait it out. Luckily, just like a real earthquake, the tiny terrors and uncertainties pass quickly. A twitch, a shiver, a quick Hawaiian sashay in and out.
And just like that, you’re back to real life. Glorious, wonderful, real life.