It’s been a year since I sold my home on the Redlands and moved in with my sister in California—a year filled with challenges, learning and many good things. Uprooting my comfortable, familiar life has shown me that moving on is a series of steps.

My comfort zone took a beating: transferring Medicare, finding a doctor accepting new patients and doing the same for a dentist and dermatologist. Registering my car with its mandatory smog check, getting California insurance and tags, obtaining a new driver’s license and opening a new bank account all presented their own hurdles. Getting lost by taking the wrong off-ramps on Highway 101 taught me that getting lost is a great way to learn how not to get lost.

The gardening curve climbed steeply as I landscaped Joyce’s neglected yard, which is in a Mediterranean climate, not a desert. Fortunately, it’s much smaller than my former half-acre. After months of hard labor, I can now pick a salad from our raised beds, bring in jasmine and wisteria for the table, and walk the neighborhood to see what works for others.

On the Redlands, everything from groceries to cocktails involved driving. Here, I walk two blocks to leave a book at the Little Free Library and follow a wooded path to the fire station to drop off used batteries. Just half a block farther, I pass the swimming pool and cross over to a small shopping plaza where ethnic restaurants offer both in-house dining and takeout. 

Scotty’s Market, a mom-and-pop shop with the best deli, sells fresh organic vegetables and blue cheese made just up the coast. Without leaving the plaza, I can get my car repaired, my hair cut, my clothes cleaned and my packages mailed—all within a seven-minute walk.

I refresh my artistic bent with a watercolor class at the community center, where I dance to big bands and jazz once a month. My inner handywoman loves Jackson’s Hardware, an employee-owned playground for DIYers. 

I built an art studio, a retreat where I can relearn what works and doesn’t in oil and watercolor, display my work or read on a rainy day.

Joyce and I eat mostly plant-based food, and I’ve lost 15 pounds without trying. Long evenings on the patio slip past with wine, conversation and memories.

Still, I miss morning walks along the Redlands canal and the morning sun in my kitchen in January sparkling on a snowy deck. I miss the decades-old rosebush that smelled the way roses should, eating sun-warmed Concord grapes and peaches and gathering lilac bouquets. Call me weird, but I even miss shoveling snow! 

I couldn’t have handpicked better owners than the young couple who bought my house. They gave me a tour of the old homestead when I visited in March, and I felt no sense of loss when I said farewell, knowing my former home is loved.

The jury’s still out on a few things. The only friends I have are friends of Joyce’s. I’ve made some acquaintances but no one to have lunch with or walk with when Joyce is busy. Then again, I’ve spent countless hours working in the yard and learning from various construction projects we’ve done. I still haven’t been into San Francisco, but I’ve found great restaurants, an indie art supply store and nursery employees who know exactly what I need for this climate.

Yes, change can be challenging and even scary at times, but it also shakes us out of our ruts and brings new experiences. It’s a whole new world, and a good one. 

Read the other articles in Jan's journey: