Thirteen months ago, I moved from my 22-year home in Colorado to the Bay Area north of San Francisco. It’s been a year of transitions, new experiences, and at timed loneliness. I live with my sister, and we get along really well, thank goodness! But there are times I need more.

I joined a watercolor workshop, and the women (and two men) are very nice. I also found three ballroom dance venues that I attend sometimes. I’ve walked the neighborhood until I know every cut-across and street, every shortcut, and almost every dog.

The houses in the neighborhood are all similar. The streets are named for plants, such as Wisteria, Woodbine, and Wakerobin. The H’s are east of us, across Las Pavadas, and the O’s are just east of the H’s. So we live in WHOville, as our favorite bartender calls it.

I found that moving is more than just loading a van and driving west. New driver’s license, new car insurance, changing mailing and email addresses, updating info on all both of my credit cards, magazine subscriptions, and more tiny details that most of us forget every once in a while.

There is no weather here. It’s either raining or sunny, with occasional clouds. No thunder and lightning, no snowstorms, not even a flurry. I miss shoveling my former driveway and watching summer storms boil up over the Colorado National Monument. Still, there are compensations: the beach, ferry rides into San Francisco, semi-retirement, and a yard that’s a third of the size of my half-acre in Colorado

I still sometimes refer to “home” even a year after the move, and I have moments of regret, but mostly I appreciate being closer to Joyce, transforming her forlorn yard, and cooking with plant-based foods. So a year of change and transition, and it’s all good.

Don’t be afraid of change. It’s different but there are so many blessings hidden in the details that I’m glad I came.