Early 2005.

Prince Charles finally married Camilla, low rise flared jeans were in style, and Carrie Underwood won American Idol. I was 27 years old, and a single mother to three young children; ages 7, 4, and 18 months. I worked as a real estate paralegal during the day, and spent most of my evenings and weekends at my parents’ house. Somehow I was able to make ends meet, but the cushy reliance upon my parents and their constant provision kept me from fully seeking independence for myself. As days would go by, the yearning in my heart to find contentment and purpose outside of my tiny home town at least 500 miles away continued to grow inside of me like a raging wildfire.

One day after work while picking up KFC for me and my children, I received a phone call that would change the entire trajectory of my life. A successful condominium conversion company based in La Jolla, California was looking to hire a real estate paralegal. They came across my online resume (my resume?) and wanted to do a telephone interview. After a 15 minute conversation, I was booked on a flight and would leave later that week for an in person interview. After we wrapped up lunch at George’s at the Cove, I was offered a full time position with a salary higher than my asking price, along with a 5K relocation allowance, two months rent free in one of the company’s brand new condos, and in one of the most desirable areas of San Diego. I called my sweet Daddy later that night to tell him the news. I still remember standing in my posh hotel room and peering out over the Pacific Ocean as his voice grew silent.  Looking back now, I am amazed at the strength and emotional fortitude it took for him to let me move away with three of his grandchildren. Although he didn’t want me to leave, he allowed me room to spread my wings and fly. I never thought about this until many years later, and even today I am still uncovering pieces of the person and father he was to me.

Only three short weeks would pass before I said my final good-bye to home in South Carolina as I had known it for over 27 years…

Hello SoCal.

As a tried and true Southern girl, there were a few harsh realities I quickly discovered. Nobody in California wears panty hose. Nobody. You can’t order sweet tea. Anywhere. If you go grocery shopping, you will use a cart. Not a buggy. If you are referring to any major roadways, highways or interstates, you must put the word “the” in front of it. For instance, there is no such thing as Interstate 5. It’s THE 5. Last but not least, if you utter the words “yes ma’am” or “y’all” you will immediately garner the attention of everyone within a 2 mile radius.

After being in town for only 10 days, I decided to venture out and attend salsa dance lessons at Cafe Sevilla in downtown San Diego. I still remember what I had on that day – a fitted silky black blouse with tiny blue polka dots, cropped gaucho pants and strappy high heels. My hair was super long and curly at the time, and I was probably wearing a dark shade of lipstick. I didn’t know anyone and realized early on I would have to put myself out there if I wanted to make friends. (Side note: San Diego has the friendliest people you will ever meet.) I boldly approached a group of girls who were looking for a booth, and I invited myself to sit down with them. Yes, I actually did this. They were more than welcoming and we hung out in the restaurant area for awhile since lessons didn’t start for another half hour. Shortly before it was time for the class to start, I bounced over to the bar area to order a water. As I waited on the bartender, I caught someone looking at me out of my peripheral. I turned to see a rather handsome Latino man wearing wire rimmed glasses and a button up shirt (except he apparently forgot to button the top two buttons). Like, where does he think he is? Miami?

Without any hesitation, he asked me if I wanted to join him for a Sangria. So I did. We chatted for a few minutes and realized we were both going to the salsa class downstairs. He gave me his business card and I thoughtlessly shoved it down inside my purse. We ended up going to the salsa class separately, and I never did dance or talk with him again that night.

In the coming weeks, I settled into a new routine with my job while the kids adjusted to a Nanny at home. Each morning on my way to work, I would enjoy a Starbucks iced white mocha while listening to my Kelly Clarkson CD. Her single “Breakaway” encapsulated everything I had experienced that year, and was no doubt the #1 most played song in my car for weeks.

During that 10 minute drive to work, the Pacific Ocean would come into clear focus as I got closer to my office. Every day, I felt as though I was living inside a dream. It was a fresh start. A perpetual vacation of sorts. It was everything I had imagined… and it had only just begun.