Mike and I went on a lovely trip to San Diego back in October. It was a life-changing trip because it made the both of us want to move to California. We have lots of friends that live in San Diego and we seriously considered moving there, including looking at apartments while we were there.

After months of consideration, however, we have decided to stay in Salt Lake City. The attraction of old friends and beautiful weather year ‘round just can’t compete against family and low housing costs. This is the second time that the two of us have seriously considered moving to California and have decided to stay.

In some respects, I feel so relieved that we have decided to stay. I love the mountains. I love my family. I even find a sick amusement at the lack of separation of church and state. I love it here despite the cold and the snow.

I also feel trapped. I feel a little bit like George Bailey. My friends have gone to make their fortunes in San Diego and I’m still here. I wasn’t even trapped here by horrible circumstances like George was. My father didn’t die. The Savings and Loan wasn’t going to go to the evil Mr. Potter unless I stayed. I stayed because I’m too cheap to pay $2K a month for an apartment that isn’t as good as my 873 square foot, mouse-infested, haunted house. Well, that and I don’t want to miss out on my family’s lives.

I guess I’m never going to move out of Salt Lake City. I’ll have to be happy with my hippie-infested area of Sugarhouse, because that’s the most liberal I’m going to find for three hundred miles. For the last few months, I have looked at every item I owned, trying to decide if it should follow me to San Diego. Instead, they are all staying here with me. I’m relieved and I’m disappointed. It’s such a strange ambiguity.