Big news.

Looks like the time has come. I’ve been thinking for months that I should move to Oakland. I want to spend more time with my sister and her boys. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to find anyone in Sacramento. I’ve tried. I’ve put up several rounds of CL ads and met many men. I’ve answered men’s ads on Salon/Nerve, to no response. I’ve passed notes to strangers. I’ve asked friends to set me up. I’m out in public and friendly and I can’t make it work. I have tried. The whole time I was trying, I kept telling myself that no matter how hard it was to approach someone, it was easier than packing my stuff and moving, which has the advantage of being true. But I can’t make it work here. I can’t find a vein of guys like me and I feel like a mismatch for the guys I see and I can’t keep trying a strategy that doesn’t work.

I’ve known for months and months that I should move and I kept pushing the thought away. I love it here. I love my house. I love that Sacramento is just waking up for the summer. People are coming out to their porches and I want to see which porches are going to be the lively ones this year. The guys diagonally across the street did yeoman’s labor for the fun last summer, staying up on their porch all night at least once every two weeks, but now there’s a For Rent sign in front of that house. Ali came home all excited the other day because the guys down the block had a stand-up bass on their front porch and if we didn’t already have plans to go to the park, we’d have changed into dresses and brought over a six-pack. I rode home last night, learning the words to the songs she put on my Shuffle and dancing around on my bike. The night was warm and when I got home, she’d turned on the pretty porch lights so you could see my potted trees; my house looks so bright and beautiful as you walk up to it. I love what I have here.

When Guy #4 was an option, for a few days I let myself think ahead. Until I did that, I had no idea how much I wanted a summer with a boy here. I wanted to drink margaritas on his porch and play cards as we watched people go by. I wanted to decide whether I should make something light or whether we should eat out. I wanted to be able to choose things in the moment, which park, which river beach, which bar, which friends. I wanted to bring him tomatoes on the way back from my garden. I wanted long hot nights, with the sheet kicked off and air from the fans crossing back across our skin. I barely knew him, but oh man, I surely learned what dreams I’ve kept clamped down. But even that potential was an exception. I can’t make it happen. I have tried.

So I’m moving to Oakland, very slowly at first, because in my heart I don’t want to. (This is ridiculous, by the way. I really like my sister’s neighborhood. I love when I’m around enough that the babies turn to me. I like our new apartment. I like the bakeries and plants. Chris and Dennis’n’Amber and likely Anand are there. Some of you are there! When I’m there, I like it.) I’ll start with weekends. I’ll be here during the week, because my job lets me work on Los Osos. I don’t have to decide anything about the house until July, when Ali leaves for Peace Corps and I could rent the whole place for about twice the mortgage. I figure by July, going back and forth will be miserable and I’ll be glad to commit to one place. By July, I should have a sense whether dating there will be any better than dating here. So I’m moving, mostly. I think it is right. I think I’ll be happy there. I think I have to, if a partner and kids are my priority. But oh man. I feel heartbroken.