Optimism

Leaving my life in NYC was tremendously risky, and since we're having a bit of a rough start here in California, optimism has been a necessary companion.

However, if you know me or have read my previous posts, perhaps it is already abundantly clear that optimism is not a part of my skill set. I prefer to think of myself as a "realist", but perhaps it would be more honest if I admitted my pessimistic tendencies. If I expected everything to go well, and it all ended up in the shits, then I'd feel let down. But if I thought that everything would turn up in the shits, and everything did, then at least I would be satisfied by my being right. Solid logic? I think so.

Anyhow. What I am getting at is this: it is in my nature to immediately think the worst of any situation, and it is hard to put a bright spin on things, so my introduction to this new environs called the Bay Area would naturally entice my pessimism to trot about and spew its shit on everything. This is especially so because I am coming from New York City, easily the best city in the US, so everything pretty much sucks in comparison. But, I am proud to say that I have been keeping upbeat about this transition. Or at least I am trying to.

California does not make it easy. For instance, when I received my new Cali driver's license, I could not believe how utterly cheap and stupid it looked. When you update your address, are you really only expected to write the new address on the back of your existing license? In what, magic marker? How incredibly official.

And the shopping carts are kept outside the grocery stores. This is a definite change, and means that I walk into the store, swing around wildly, pondering where the carts could be, and then have to exit to the store just as soon as I entered it, to find the carts stationed dumbly outside in an out-of-the-way place. (In NYC, there are no carts, just hand baskets, so perhaps carts are always kept outside of the store--I still think it's a crap idea.)

And then there's the recycling situation. In NYC, consumers pay a deposit on carbonated beverages only, and they can receive their deposits back by using automated machines that eat recyclables, and spit out a voucher in return, which can be redeemed for cash inside the store in which the machines are located. In California, the consumer pays deposits on any sort of beverage in a plastic container it seems, up to 10 cents, and can only receive his/her deposit back if s/he brings recyclables to "recycling centers", otherwise known as ramshackle huts, which are haphazardly spread throughout (not every grocery store gets a recycling center, and not every recycling center is next door to a grocery store). Everything must be sorted and put into the smelliest trash cans ever, which are then weighed. Weight determines the amount of the returned deposit, rather than actually number of cans/bottles. And, if the consumer is especially lucky, he can hang out behind people who recycle for a living, which drags out this undoubtedly pleasurable experience for a spectacular two hours. It's absolutely sadistic.

When these issues come up, I force a smile and think about how lovely my 1,000 square foot apartment is (compared to my 450 square foot Astoria digs), and how fun it will be to wash and dry my clothes from the comfort of my own home (instead of the laundromat with the dryers that stink of armpits). And I think of the mountains, or foot-hills, whatever they are, and what a beautiful change of scenery they offer. And I try to remember how nice and kind people here tend to be (even the guy who collects stranded grocery carts and brings them to the ill-located cart-paddock wished me a great day!). These thoughts often soften my reactions to the red-flag characteristics of this strange land, although I am still quite wary. Moving from the city to the suburbs is quite a culture shock, and it will definitely take some time.

Haven't I said that before, that it'll take time? Oh yeah. Once already on this blog, and millions of times in my head. Now that's optimism.