I am in the wind. That is how I felt gazing out the window of the seaplane carrying me back from Vancouver to my temporary home in Victoria. The sky a glorious deep blue as the night began to fall upon the wooded islands below. I caught glimpses of what look like homes peeking out from the forests that engulf the small pockets of land.
What must that be like? I think. To live so close to the city and yet in such a remote setting that one could be entirely isolated. Who chooses that life and why?
I have chosen a life that shuttles me from location to location to location. Some familiar and others exotic. The Sutton in Vancouver an old friendly haunt. The waterfront in Wilmington a view I have returned to again and again. The hotel across from a government intelligence agency in Romania? Not so much. The view from my window there was of armed men wearing deadly serious expressions. Not so inviting but I made friends with a few of them or at least through dogged effort occasioned a smile from one or two as I passed by.
Strolling through Victoria on my day off is a visual delight. There are flower boxes attached to every streetlight, parks adorned with an infinite variety of blooms and foliage. This is a lush island and there is a great deal of civic pride on display.
My feet show signs of age…the toes a bit knotty, the beginnings of a bunion near the ball of the right one, but they have carried me far and I am grateful to feel the unfamiliar sidewalk below and to breathe in the fresh air of discovery.
A new town. So much to learn.
That is how I felt when I moved to Austin eleven years ago. Having left home at sixteen and made my way first to Los Angeles and then New York and back to Los Angeles, my entire life experience had been a coastal one. The middle of the country was as mysterious to me as a foreign land. Texas was and is more varied in topography and culture than its portrayal in movies and television would lead us to believe.
No tumbleweeds for Austin though there are still cowboys to be found and iconic hats being worn. There are sexy young women in short dresses wearing the pointed boots that invoke horsemanship and gunslingers and the infamous Texas Rangers with their storied if problematic history. The city is lush and green and centered around the Colorado river.
“That’s Lady Bird Lake” I said to my mom as we drove over the Congress bridge, the same bridge that supports hundreds of pedestrians who gather in season to watch the notorious Austin bats fly off into the night.
“That’s not a lake” she replied gazing at it. “That’s a river.” No flies on Mom.
Texans are peculiar about naming things. Many roads have not one or even two but three names. Rivers are called lakes. Spanish names are pronounced in odd Germanic ways. Manchaca Avenue is said without the final A. ‘Man-shack’ they call it.
I had fun exploring a new town, new streets, new shops new cuisines. I made some new friendships that are a decade old now and will be with me for all my years to come. It was also a great place to travel from. It featured a small manageable airport which had direct flights to almost all the major American cities. Most of the trips were just two plus hours from the very central starting point which Texas enjoys.
The airport like the city is expanding at breakneck speed. The town I moved to is now a major metropolis, at once shining and glamorous and plagued by its popularity with traffic and increased crime. Families who have dwelt there for generations have been pushed out of the city by gentrification and high taxation. A sad and all too familiar plight for the working class in American cities.
It was not until the pandemic and subsequent shut-down hit that I recognized how much of the decade I lived in Austin had been spent in other places, my travel schedule loaded with work jaunts as well as pleasure trips. it was not until there was no place to go and no way to get there that I realized Texas had never really become home. It was and will always be a charming spot to land.
I was born and raised in California. My parents who hailed from Kentucky and Ohio made their way west after Dad got through his MBA. Mom a nurse Dad a budding hospital administrator…they went where the work was and that was California. They built our lives by the sea there and more family followed. The west coast is now home to multiple generations of my Broderick clan.
It is time to go home.
I am suspended here in Victoria between the two lives. My belongings sorted out and “Podded” up by the amazing David S. without whom I could not have managed. I also got an invaluable assist from Dennis, Pat, Kat, and Shauna. I am blessed with great good friends in both cities. The few possessions I am taking with me are headed to California where they will wait in Barstow of all places until I complete the movie and take to the air again.
This time I will head due south to join my sisters and my cousins and so many of my life-long friends who have laid the foundation for their lives in LA. It will be new in ways but also more familiar than any other place I have been and there is comfort there.
I made scrambled eggs this morning in my hotel room and had to stop myself from placing the bowl on the ground for my dog Roxy to lick. I ache to think of her and try to telepathically assure her that she is coming home with me. She is accustomed to my absences, but it is never easy for either one of us when I leave.
There are always things missed when I am on the road. I have missed out on countless birthdays, weddings, a friend’s book-signing or another friend’s performance, yet another loved one’s memorial service. We miss our kids and pets and spouses if we have them and our routines. We miss our kitchens and our favorite hikes and the sight of all things familiar.
Oh, but this view.
This life has allowed me to see the world and experience day to day exploration in wildly divergent settings. To take in all the sights and smells and sounds of different cities and remote locales. To fly into new cultures and the lives of new coworkers and hotel staff and shopkeepers. To try new foods and walk new trails and breathe new air.
The traveling life is not for everyone, but it has been a good one for me and I am grateful.
This time I will head back and begin to build a new life in my old hometown. The City of Angels has its fair share of demons, but it holds my most vibrant memories and is the origin point for the many road trips of my life. It will be good to be home. To take in the familiar faces and places. It will be good to be grounded there because I will always also be…
In the wind.
On we go…
Love it.. taking a little journey through you by you…
This is beautifully written, as usual.
It got me thinking about a friend of mine who was, and still is, a musician. She lived here in Tucson for about six years and even owned a house here. In that time, she was often on tour, recording elsewhere, or doing one project after another that I am not sure that she ever spent the summer here, with our oppressive "dry heat" followed by a brief season of violent storms that make the desert bloom. She moved on without ever feeling like this was home or really understanding this place. I guess that this is an occupational hazard for folks like you and her. I am glad that you seem to have found a cozy and familiar place to land, however.
I also enjoyed your observation about the cavalier way that Texans mispronounce Spanish. Californians do something similar. It always annoys me, though I guess that it should not.
Thank you again for all that you share.