Well, now I’ve done it.
Seven years ago, I closed my reporter’s notebook (though never, I thought, for good) in favor of law school. I thought studying law would provide a short-lived foray into something different, something more engaging, something that would promise me a better standard of living and more security at a time when newspapers across the country imposed furloughs, laid off veteran storytellers, and in some cases, closed their doors. I packed up my beat-up Chevrolet (now how’s that for a good country tune?) and bid adieu to my fellow journalists at The Arizona Republic in Phoenix. This, I told myself as I traversed I-40, was the right, responsible decision.
For awhile, I was right. It was 2005, and law firms were riding high. I did well enough at my school, a top-ranked public university in a picturesque Midwestern college town, to get offers of summer employment at firms that were willing to pay me in a summer what I made in a year at my old gig. They wined and dined me, and I spent a summer at a respected large firm based in a midsized city doing work that was mildly interesting but worth the MLB box seats and firm lunches at posh, overpriced joints and, of course, the fat paychecks. Or so I thought.
Life intervened. I met the man who is now my husband and made the decision in 2007 to turn my back on the best-laid plans in favor of him and the town he loved. To aid my decisionmaking, my suitor, a native Californian, constantly reminded me that San Diego was, on average, a good 40 degrees cooler than the Valley of the Sun. The Golden State won out, and I moved west.
It’s been three years since I punched my ticket with the California State Bar, and yet somehow, here I am, searching for stories to tell. I write because it’s the only thing I know how to do innately, and I’ve resolved to do it again, this time on my own terms. I’ve chosen with this blog to write about food and drink in San Diego, all three things I love passionately. I’m glad you stopped by.