No championship series was at stake in December, but that month I decided to pull up my stakes in New York and head west. I pointed my bat at San Francisco, and touched down in my native city just before Christmas. Friends old and new rang in the New Year with me up at Yosemite--a very special place to me, and the best one in which to mark my move back to California--and since then, things have been an absolute blur.
A New Year and new beginnings in Yosemite
Seven months later, and my day to day life looks very much like the dream at which I pointed my bat last winter. I didn't know what to expect, much less what I would find, when I left New York--I had no detailed agenda or plan, and for the first time in my life, I literally had no idea what I might be doing in the foreseeable future. But I had a very strong sense of what I wanted, even if I couldn't see exactly what it might be. And I decided to trust myself.
I'll never be a major league baseball player (for a variety of obvious reasons), but even if I were, the odds of reaching the Babe's heights are close to zero. Still, I'll never forget the moment when I paused, stepped back, and took a very clear look at my life in NYC. Then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and swung.