Anti-Tsunami

Here are some details on my first week here.

First, props to Delia for hooking me up and decorating - she and Basil worked for countless hours setting up my new pad. Basil picked me up at the airport, and was just such a trouper. My apartment looks and feels gorgeous. I feel so at home in it.

So, I’m here. Somehow it feels like I’ve never left the East Coast. It’s not like I feel more comfortable here than in SF, but it feels very normal (much longer than a week) — much moreso than I anticipated. In my head, San Francisco is this distant dream fantasy world vacation place. It’s almost mythical, and certainly magical. Because my memory is so distorted, I don’t feel displaced (though population-wise the general dearth of East Asians and abundance of chain restaurants feels foreign).

When I first arrived, Priscilla was here (she was actually sleeping in my roommate’s bed, while he was here unexpectedly). Seeing her was amazing - it was like no time had passed, even though so many circumstances in our lives have changed. I am so happy she is just a hop, skip, and a jump away in NYC.

I spent the first few days with my new roommate, Ahmed, (the nicest guy ever - watch out Martino - Delia is in love with this one) who turns out to be Emily Stasko’s high school classmate. He is a wealth of knowledge about everything related to Iraq. He is so willing to talk about really important issues in a candid and respectful manner.

Then, I had a housewarming party (actually Meet the Parent, D.C. style) on Sunday for about 30 folks. The composition of the party was interesting because it was mostly girls. In my former lives, I had predominantly female friends. But, most recently this had changed markedly. This party was 80% women. It was very hot outside, but wonderful to reunite with some people who I haven’t seen in many moons. I got some really generous gifts, saw old photos of a former Andrew, and chatted with people of my yesteryears. The party was mid-day - totally relaxing - a bit more subdued than what I’m used to. That description pretty much sums up how I’m feeling. Not depressed, but just a bit slower; somewhat subdued. Vanessa noted that I serially repeated the preposition "in San Francisco" ad nauseum. I have been attempting to curb this.

I started my position on Monday along with another co-worker who just relocated from Las Vegas. (Funny coincidence is that I saw him give a presentation at a conference in San Francisco. The interesting thing about him is that he barely knows Washington, D.C. I gave him a walking tour of Dupont, Adams Morgan, U Street and Woodley Park yesterday, with the latter being his favorite. I felt sort of expert.)

We started with an HR orientation, where I realized how good GGU’s benefits were. I felt like I asked too many questions. I also realized that I displaced my Passport and Social Security Card for I-9 purposes (note: you can only get 10 Social Security cards in your lifetime - what happens after that???) After much stress, I realized that I wouldn’t be terminated without the relevant paperwork.

The work environment seems quite Utopian. My office is in an old mansion with lots of windows and free, unlimited green tea. My co-workers are extremely friendly (lunch together every day) and respectful. My Associate Director is a total sweetheart. Apparently there is political diversity in my office, and at our intro lunch, co-workers wanted to know my (and my new colleague’s) political leanings. [I am always shocked when people don't assume I am a Democrat.] The politics are slowly but surely seeping into my everyday conversations and I feel markedly more tolerant of conservative ideology than I used to, perhaps as a coping mechanism.

My job description is less labor intensive than I had expected, to the extent that I am no longer responsible for planning events or for marketing them — apparently there are event planners and marketing managers for that. I am really excited to build something from scratch. I was also shocked to learn that I don’t have to take my own trash. This is a great luxury. This week was one session of orientation for incoming GW students, and it was so well-organized and community-oriented that it completely foiled my experience at Golden Gate.

I have wavered a bunch already on the degree thing and I think I am going to take classes starting in the Spring, and I am just going to take things out of interest. I can say that I have been very impressed with the Media and Communications School, so I might do something journalism-oriented — just because it excites me (and the student composition is very International).

One major issue is that everybody eats way too much American food here, namely salads and sandwiches. (Today’s goat cheese and sundried tomato one was actually quite nice.) There’s only so much of this a man like me can take. I am sweating for Lahore. It’s actually killing me. Don’t get me wrong - the salads are good - but it’s just a little rote.

Later in the week, I got together with Sally and Bernie, Andrea’s parents, and my mentors. They are good people. They made me feel better in sharing their story about moving to Chicago; specifically how they were not keen on the move and they totally can’t consider leaving now, even though. And, although they have no reason or intention to leave, if they were to move anywhere, it would be to this region.

Today felt more homey. I did happy hour with Mercer at my new pad - we just picked up the pieces after a little hiatus. She’s adorable — someone I have tons of conversational chemistry with — we could jabber on for hours. Then, my roommate came to surprise me with great ethnic food. Tonight I had a notable free dinner with Yanna and Akeisha (and Akeisha’s boss, the owner of a large DC temping agency) at Jimmy K’s. Akeisha somehow had a big connection at this restaurant and we had everything all-expenses-paid. I ate salad, tuna tartare, wine, coffee, soda, spinach, filet mignon, lobster, creme brulee. My meal was worth in the range of $170. I spent $20 on tip. It seems they are trying to promote this high class restaurant and this is their way of doing it. I have no objections, save for the fact that my belly is significantly larger. I joined the GW gym to change that.

D.C. impressions so far:

Positives: The walk to work is beautiful and exciting (architecturally, landscape, etc.) - I pass by all sorts of interesting buildings, embassies, etc., co-workers and job are great, monuments at night are gorgeous, my neighborhood is walking distance to everything cool, cabs are plentiful and cheap (though I am taking them way too often), I get to reunite with old friends.

Negatives: People here don’t smile when they walk down the street, lots of talk about muggings, people talk too loudly on their cell phones to demonstrate their importance, dress as if there is a mandatory dress code, and the restaurants are way too expensive, too much emphasis on "dating" in the culture, lack of relationships between local business owners and customers.

Parking Lot:

Note #1: My cell phone is acting funky and I can’t receive text messages.

Note #2: The nearby gayborhood Safeway is called the "Soviet Safeway" and seems proportionately more gay than the one in the Castro.

Note #3: Not sure if I’ll become the District’s Kevin Bacon, but I have already started bumping into people everywhere. Yesterday I met a student who went to KO in Hartford and who knows a bunch of UConn law profs from my former life there. I also bumped into Bryony, my co-worker, my waitress from the other day at Old Glory (yay for Southern BBQ), among others.

Note #4: I always had a dream of showing my mother an image of a woman on a restaurant banner who looks just like her. Mission accomplished and everybody agreed, including a homeless guy who thought it was her, and mentioned this in lieu of asking for money.

Note #5: Last night there was a scary-as-hell lightning storm. The night before I had a terrible ketchup nightmare

Basically, so far, I totally see what everyone had said to me. D.C. is a great place to be young, and seems like it would be totally cool for 3 years. Who knows what the future holds? I hope California is in the cards. In the meantime, I am AOK.

My wanderlust died.

It always comes back to Thomas Friedman’s The Lexus and the Olive Tree (and, I suppose, Suze Orman’s Young, Broke, & Fabulous). It was the story of my long-term break-up. I am the Lexus; the hyper-ambitious, work-success-oriented one - the one who’s attracted to the glitz, to the title.

Right now, I live this fairy tale life, filled with eclectic people, food, and environs. San Francisco feels to me more like a small hamlet than a metropolis. I bump into friendly faces nearly everywhere I go. I’m well-connected. For the first time in my life, I don’t have any real enemies. The natural beauty of the place astounds me, as does Blue Bottle Coffee at Ferry Plaza, nude people frollicking on Baker Beach as if it’s the Garden of Eden, seeing parallel cliques at Bay to Breakers, watching old hippies and miscreants play dijeridou at Sacred Grounds, and tranny prostitutes saunter down Polk St., my 10-buck haircuts at Cinta, scarfing down chilaquiles remo and listening to mariachis play at Los Jarritos, hanging out at Lahore Karahi after 3 rounds of free kulfi with Bollywood blasting in the background, watching KaBoom from a hill in Treasure Island, almost crying at Glide Church every time I say the introductory prayer, singing at Martunis to a rousing applause, strolling around Nob Hill or Dolores Park on a sunny day, and returning home from the East Bay, late night, and walking from Powell through a sea of tourists in Union Square who I used to think were the biggest suckers ever for not living here. This past weekend I showed my mom San Francisco. It was her 4th trip here in the past 3 years. I took her to my favorite haunts, to the Castro Theatre sing-along of Evita, wine sampling in Sonoma, to watch Spelling Bee: The Musical, to the hole in the wall Vietnamese restaurant I love; we looked for Buddhas in Chinatown, listened to my 60-something friend from ACT sing the standards in Sausalito, and sampled truffle oil at the Farmer’s Market. This time, she finally got why I loved San Francisco so much. And, the fact that she got it, made me feel a lot closer to her. And, more at home.

My life is pretty well perfect, except for a little thing called career advancement. Part of the equation for why my life is so great is my job. I know this is confusing. As opposed to my brief stints in the law, I really love working in higher education; in fact, I’m meant for it. But, at Golden Gate there isn’t any room for me to grow professionally, and the school is simply too nontraditional for me. And, I can’t afford to live responsibly, to pay my mortgage, credit cards, etc.. This realization gave rise to a moment (or weeks) of weakness, which prompted a major life shift.

Here is the story.
I was in Seattle at a 3-day Conference for Alumni Relations. I was real eager-beaver at the whole thing, having to restrain myself from raising my hand incessantly. I had lunch with one of the keynote presenters (an ex-attorney) who implied that he’d like to lure me to D.C., which I initially scoffed at. We kept in touch. A few months later, I receive a call from him imploring me to interview. I head to D.C. to consider my options. Meanwhile, I quickly apply to a number of jobs at Stanford and Berkeley, for which I receive quite a few interview offers, none of which panned out in time. In, D.C. I undergo a battery of interviews for what turns out to be a perfect-fit position, and receive a soft offer pending one interview. I returned to San Francisco, and back to D.C. for one 30-minute interview. The rest is history.

Let me tell you about the job - I am the Director of Reunions (even though I missed my Mac reunion this past weekend). It’s a newly created position. Basically, I am the large-scale event planner for the 9 schools of the university. Right now Reunions are virtually nonexistent. I’m going to change that to create a major fundraising event that attracts tens of thousands of people. I have a staff. I’m the only non-alumnus in the office. And, interestingly a lot of the office is comprised of males, which is atypical in alumni relations. My job description talks about international travel.

To make a long story short, I’m moving to D.C., a place I once considered a second home; a place that prompted my tear-ridden crisis to leave Hartford for the "big city." At one point, D.C. was a refuge for me. Wow - how perspectives change. Now, thinking about moving from San Francisco to yuppified, suit-and-tie-obsessed D.C. inspires panic. Basically, moving has been my life, and it’s never been a problem before.  If you don’t know me well, I was born in NY, raised in FL, attended undergrad in MN, and law school in CT,  spent summers in NY, SC, NC, PA, IL, MO, MA, DC, and CA. In fact, I have never lived in the same house for more than 2 years. But, this time I feel differently.

After I made the decision, I experienced a few hyper-sensitive weeks of qualified devastation.
First, it seems like many of my closest friends and people who I’ve invested in have moved or committed to move to the West Coast, and understandably so. Tom and Merinda are moving to Seattle just as I move East. Cara and Josh moving to San Francisco. The pace is so right - so unpretentious, so cool. People here are more health-conscious, nicer, and know how to balance their life and work. The cities are more liberal. At first, I sought consolation in others. I even went on myspace looking for D.C. lurkers to tell my why D.C. is awesome. Au contraire, the common themes of people’s responses have been that I making a reverse commute, or that "D.C. is no San Francisco." OK, I’ve established that people are rude, dressed, hyper-political, the Asian food’s not off-the-wall-good, it’s dangerous, sleepy on Sundays, there’s little in the way of organics and green-haired hipsters, bureacrating, there’s no skyline, and the housing is more expensive than San Francisco. End of rant.
Second, The last two years have been the best of my life thus far (a pretty good life I must say). I have never felt so balanced, so independant, so surrounded by like-minded people before. And, I’m leaving.

At first, I was angry; angry that I "had" to move. Then, I got over my martyrdom. I chose to leave. I chose to leave largely because this position will open future doors in my career for me to live in the Bay Area on a permanent basis, after 3-4 years in D.C. More on that later.
Third, the plan seems fool-proof except for a little thing call aging. I feel like I am throwing away my youth in the garbage. If I could freeze-frame everything and live the next 3 years as a 27-year old, I would feel better. But, I realize I am going to be 30 or 31 when I move back, which sounds awfully old to me. Like when I come back, I won’t be able to go to Zeitgeist or identify with wayward recent college grads with a sparkle in their eyes (and a chip on their shoulders), as they search for clubs to party at on 16th and Valencia. I am realizing that I am not that young. Like my mom and I were talking and she was saying people who are not young or old, like me, are more susceptible to bird flu. My mom also tells people I am 26 (so as not to age her).

There’s a bunch of silver linings:

People keep saying, and I know (for better or for worse), the 3 years will zip by. And, the big earthquake is going to happen while I’m gone. And real estate prices will plunge, allowing me to buy in Dolores Park. And, I’m definitely not moving to Wichita. And, my wages will be far more liveable (allowing for frequent trips to San Francisco). And, the job is perfect. And, people have left the Bay Area and survived (thank you to the Emily’s). Others are joining me out East (Turadg, Mike). And, my mother’s a little psychic (for example, 2 days ago she asked me about an elementary school friend of mine who I hadn’t thought about in 10 years, whom I researched and couldn’t find, and who e-mailed me out of the blue THE SAME FRIKKIN DAY - only I understand how strange this is), and she knows I am coming back the Bay, though she wants me in Rockridge or Berkeley for some reason.

During my final interview (I was in D.C. for about 12 hours after an Ambien induced red eye the preceding night), I checked out 5 apartments in D.C. in quick succession (one of the most interesting things is that at almost every apartment, the nearest dry cleaner was pointed out).  I pretty well have the best apartment (we’re talking a washing machine that goes straight from wash cycle to dry cycle and jets in the bathtub) in the best neighborhood of D.C. - at U and New Hampshire - with a really cool roommate. I am leasing from a legally educated non-lawyer. Fun stuff. It will be really exciting to be there during the presidential election. I am going to work out at GW’s illustrious gym. I vow to find a great Indian restaurant. I am close to New York City (and closer to Europe). Lots of conferences happen in D.C. And, crab cakes happen too. And, I have a bunch of good, really important friendships that will be re-energized, including Kitty, Sarah, Megan, Brianne, Mercer, Peta-Gaye, Ellen, the Daves, and others. None of my close law school friends will be out there, but Mel Brookes is a hop, skip, and a jump away. I wish Dan were there.

Another interesting thing has been people’s reactions to my leaving. The reactions varied. Some people felt betrayal. Some people were quick to snap at me about seemingly trivial things. Some people feigned indifference. Some people just show love and want to spend time together. It’s all really interesting and sort of unpredictable. Ultimately, I know deep down inside that I will be back. This is home. For the last two years, I laid a wonderful foundation that will faciliate a wonderful future here, filled with people I love (some of whom will have babies when I come back). D.C. will allow me to lay a professional foundation, which will allow me to live here comfortably until I get really old — way older than 30 or 31.

Whew - that’s all the justifying and explaining I can bear.

So, I’ve changed. Ironically, this grueling process has made me understand that although I am ultimately making a career move, I have a lot of olive tree in me. Now, I am not going to rush my time in D.C. I’m going to savor it (and figure out why I used to love it), because I’m not going to get my 20’s back. I’ll create a new fairy tale in D.C. filled with late night falafel in Adams Morgan, campaigning for the next winning Dem, and seeing more of my family (especially as my dad ages quickly).  With that said, these past two years have allowed me to lay a wonderful personal foundation for myself here, which will make it easy to return. And, my position at GW will allow me to lay a professional foundation to secure a comfortable life for myself on the Left Coast for the long-term future.

And, as for the play, thank BeJesus that that’s over. Between the grapevines, and the box steps, the choreographed dancing was killing me. The only problem is that they are using one of my beloved South African masks as a prop, and I am too chicken to ask for it back.

Anyway, so I finished the major stuff at work, had two going away parties (with 3 more to go) and things in the next two weeks should be pretty relaxed. My stuff is being shipped out today. Console me via e-mail akaufteil@gmail.com or phone (415) 725-1992 (I’m keeping my SF number). And, if you’re in D.C., fairy tale with me.