Jesus Year

When I turned thirty-three in August, I decided to embrace the whole “Jesus year” thing, without really knowing what that would look like, save for the general notion that Tim McGraw would sing “Live Like You’re Dying” behind me wherever I go.

So far, I have engaged in pretty standard Jesus year behavior. I got a kitten. I agreed to teach seven classes in one semester. I got tattoos. I moved to California.

Oh, yeah. I live in California now.


It feels as insane as it sounds. Andy got a job and now we live in the Bay Area. It’s been almost a month. It’s like I’m in a play. Or on vacation. I’m in a play about a vacation. The weather is like spring every single day. For a person who lived thirty-odd winters in Indiana, to be spending January in consistently fifty-five to sixty-five degree weather feels unreal. It is hard to believe. I don’t mean to be so midwestern as to focus on the weather, but hey, I am what I am. The weather is the first thing any functioning human would notice when moving from Indiana to California in January.

There is also the water. On Monday, we rode our bikes less than a mile, and then we were here.

How am I supposed to remember that I’m not on vacation out here?

I don’t have much in the way of a job right now, but I’m not bored. I’ve never been especially susceptible to boredom. I have my cats, my reading, my job postings, my TV shows, and my boxes. Oh, the boxes. Most of them are unpacked, but the ones that remain are especially stubborn, refusing to be handled in a timely fashion. They are in the bedroom and in the small dining alcove that we decided to use for a futon and a desk. The main living area of the apartment is box-free, but it still has a recentness about it. The coffee table is a large plastic tote. This is indicative of some Jesus year decisions that I made back in the waning days of my Indiana life. Several times, I threw out or gave away something because “I’ll get a new one in California!” The move occurred over just a few weeks in tandem with the end of the semester, and the flurry of impulse and indecision has left me in California with no coffee table, no TV console, and six laundry hampers. The apartment (a carpeted, generic one bedroom in a complex) resembles a dorm room a bit right now, but it’s exciting to start again. I have my cats and my mate, and I don’t need anything else. The rest is just decoration. I want the decoration, and I’ll get it soon. This in-between living isn’t bad, though.

I don’t have concrete plans for the rest of my Jesus year, but I imagine it will involve living in California.