greetings from the desert

I kept putting off sharing this note about my relocation from San Francisco to Phoenix, Arizona. Partly because who cares?! And partly because I felt like I needed to have a solid explanation to justify leaving the vibrancy of San Francisco for the dryness of the desert. And I don't have that. Since I made the decision to move a few months ago, I've gotten mixed reactions - there are those who freak out that anyone would consider anywhere outside of San Francisco a decent place to live, and then there are the ones who get it. Like my grandma. I called her on my drive down the I-5 and she asked what my reasons for moving were. I was honest with her and told her my reasons were many and none at the same time - I felt it in my gut.

Her response was epic, because that woman seriously gets better with age. In her matter-of-factly way, she claimed that I don't owe anyone an explanation about why I'm moving and that the reasons don't really matter, because what matters is that I trust my intuition and get out there and explore, even in those places where others might not think to go. She gave me the important reminder that now is always the time to try things we're curious about. And most importantly, she gave me her blessing. 

All this to say that if I don't owe my grandmother an explanation about my life, I certainly don't owe it to anyone else. Often times we don't need reasons, convincing, or hard facts - we need only to listen to that thump in the center of our being telling us to go for it - and trust that it's enough. As I settle into my life in the desert, I imagine I'll learn more about why I chose to move here. But for now, here's this poem to sum up what I do know.


The desert called
and now I'm here,
in Arizona.

I’m not really sure what for,
but I’m here to listen
To crickets and birds
And Spanish.

To bathe in holy-shit-look-at-ittt
sunsets and sunrises.
To get some dust on my trail shoes
first thing in the morning.
To bring our backyard grass back to life.
To dance to vinyl for hours in the living room

To sweat every drop of what doesn’t serve me,
onto my yoga mat,
down my shirt on walks around the city,
and up red rock mountains.

To rediscover roots.
To connect with family.
To explore this mystical, weird-ass territory.

To take one from the book of the desert land
and allow myself to crack,
seep in more love,
shine more light.

To take up space.
To expand.

The desert called and its magic pulled me
out of my picturesque apartment in San Francisco,
out of my sparkly magic city comfort bubble.
It pulled me down highways for 778 miles,
on a 13 hour one-day, one-way road trip
rocking out with my plants in my car,
following a Uhaul with all my art supplies,
driven by my best friend.

Maybe I do know what for.
To mix it up.
With the flow.

Now I'm here.

∞ ♥ rf

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Pinnacle Peak, Arizona

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Pinnacle Peak, Arizona

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Pinnacle Peak, Arizona

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Pinnacle Peak, Arizona

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Self Portrait

© Regina Felice Garcia, 2017, Self Portrait