Ten years ago, at the neonate age of 24, I came out to Marin from NYC on a solo trip. I can still feel the sun on my skin on the back terrace of the Mill Valley Inn, my feet on the wooden bannister. I remember thinking how wonderfully peaceful it was. I could do this, I thought. But I knew it wasn’t right for me, at that age. Fortuitously, I can almost see that terrace from my desk chair. It’s funny how often life comes full circle.

Over the years I’ve lived in Manhattan, Milan, Florence, London, and Miami, with some cities coming up for second go-arounds, third-times, and even heaping fourths. One year ago, for various reasons, I left New York for what felt like ‘once and for all.’ In the past twelve months, I have barely seen the high heels, dresses, and leather pants that at one time were so frequent I needn’t bother putting them away. I haven’t bought any new make-up, because I hardly wear any. I don’t hustle down sidewalks, I don’t sprint to trains for mid-morning meetings, I don’t meet dashing men in head-to-toe Loro Piana for business lunches, complete with a bottle of wine, espressos, and the wafting scent of someone else’s cigarette. I live in athleisure and a baseball hat. There is always a farmers market bag in my backseat next to an extra Patagonia and a weatherproof vest in case the wind picks up. I own various types of hiking boots, weatherproof running sneakers, sneakers with traction, and some very cute hiking socks of which I am rather fond.

I found an apartment in Mill Valley’s Cascade Ridge on Craigslist. Yes, Craigslist. As in, Y2K. When I replied to the ad, the owner took a week to respond. When he finally did, it looked something like this: ‘Sorry for the delay. I just got back from an epic weekend off the grid.’ That’s all he said. The New Yorker in me scoffed. Was he interested in my potential business?? But a week later, out of desperation, I wrote again. I didn’t see the apartment in person before I rented it. I didn’t need to share any references or credit scores. We had a nice chat and came to an agreement. I have many windows overlooking Mt. Tam and a mass of redwoods and evergreens which has fed me more than I could have ever imagined, ever-changing through every season and every successive day that the sunrise or sunset inches forward or backward. Birds fly through like stage hands between sets, and on particularly windy winter days, the redwoods sway so haphazardly I half worry they will knock me on the head. I may never have such a magnificent view again. And, wouldn’t you know, Cody is one of the best landlords I’ve ever had.

Here is another novelty over the past twelve months: ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘You don’t belong here.’ ‘You should be in LA. You have LA energy; You should go back to New York; Why aren’t you in Milan?; Come back to London; Why are you there?; I’m worried about you.’ ‘Who do you see up there? Who are you meeting?’ ‘I think you need to get out of there.’ (by the way, what does it mean to have ‘LA energy?’)

I’ve heard variations of the above more times than I can count. In the Spring, when an old flame came to visit, we put on our New York finest and went for what I refer to as ‘a proper date night.’ We stuck out like sore thumbs, but we didn’t care. I love that he humoured me in this, but the next morning, sat at Equator in our Patagonia ready for a morning jaunt, he looked me in the eyes and said, ‘This is paradise. I get it. But you need to get out. This is not for you right now.’ I bit my lip and nodded. I know. Do you people think I don’t know this?! I do. I did. The thing is, I derive so much happiness from beauty. From nature. From farmers markets. From food. From happy people. From good-naturedness and wholesomeness and all things endearing. Moving me out of here has been like prying a screaming toddler from, well, from somewhere he or she feels content.

One of my oldest friends describes me as chameleonic. I take this as a compliment, but I also know that— as many people do—I simply have many sides to me and many loves. I fall in love with a place the way some people fall in love with a person. It seeps into my skin—all of its shapes and moods and colours, the good and the less than perfect— and I feel forever changed by it. An inexplicable connection can feed your spirit, even if it’s not quite the right place for you at that moment. It happens with people every day. Have you ever fallen for someone who’s not the right person for you at that juncture in time, or ever? But even still, you are changed. You grew. You learned. You appreciated. You know you did. Admit it.

This hasn’t been the easiest year, but it’s been the most beautiful, the most extraordinarily beautiful, seeped in nature and scents and sunshine and the most incredible local food. If you happen to pull up next to me at a stoplight in town, you might find me smiling. You know that feeling, when you smile randomly because you’re in love? I have it here. You have to live here day in and day out, across four seasons, to understand. The sweetest moments are the ones visitors will never see or feel. Just before sunset on my street, for example, when the neighbours are taking an evening stroll and collectively smush against the side of the road as a car tries to pass them, each narrowly avoiding falling off the cliff’s edge. After a year, I’ve come to recognise my neighbours and their kids and their schedules. Their smiles are genuine. They feel like neighbours. I’ve gotten the hang of our narrow blind curves on cliff side roads. I fearlessly pass other cars on what should be one-way streets with maybe half an inch between us. We smile at one another and wave. It’s a level of comfort and ease that comes with practice. I’ve reversed up one of these roads countless times. There should be a special drivers license for Marin. After we park, we sit in our cars and catch up with someone on the phone with the door open and the breeze coming through. It’s a delicious moment.

Here are a few things I have learned. Marin County is consistently ranked the healthiest of California’s 58 counties. Marketwatch named it the healthiest county in the entire United States in 2024. It has an unusually high life expectancy average. There are more than 80,000 acres within the Golden Gate National Recreation Area in Marin County alone. 80% of this here paradise is open space, and it comes as no surprise that spending time in green space has been linked to better mental health. Increased dopamine is a given. People are happy here. I’m happy here. I completely understand why.

Here are a few things I love. (So very much. That is the wondrous thing about love; it has no ceiling. Isn’t that glorious?)

I love how 65 degrees can mean 85 or 45 depending on the sun and the wind. I love that there is no air conditioning anywhere. I leave my windows open year-round. Sweet, delicious, fresh air. I love how on certain points of Blithedale the mountains are visible on three sides. I love how at every stoplight, I can see Tam. At every stoplight, there is a view. We are cocooned. There is a sense of camaraderie or community with everyone else on the road. We, the lucky ones, in our little nest. I love how when I cross the freeway and look south, I can see the fog and when I look north, the sky is beaming. Twelve-year-old boys drive their e-bikes over the 101 as fast as the cars. They are safe here, enclosed in this bubble. The outside world doesn’t touch them. I love this. (though I am indeed quite fearful for these kids on bikes…)

I love that I can leave a Fendi shoe at Tony’s for five months and trust completely that it will still be there, somewhere beneath dozens of shoes. I love that when I go to pick it up, he smiles and laughs and is always in a good mood ready with a witticism. No problem. I love that everyone knows him. I love that he knows everyone.

I love how blue the sky is almost every day. I love how a cyclist says good morning to me as I cross the street. I love how everyone seems to know each other at Equator in the morning. I love the sweetness of it. The wholesomeness. I can 1000% see the allure of raising children here. On weekday mornings, dozens, maybe hundreds of kids appear from over the crest on their way to school. It’s like one hour of Amsterdam in Mill Valley. I love that the town trusts its neighbours so much with the safety of its children. I love that kids are always outside, the way childhood should be.

I love driving up Molino at any time of day, because when I round that one particular curve and see Tam in the distance, everything feels made of beauty. At that moment, there is no stress or hurry or worries. It’s an ‘in awe’ moment. Every single time. I love how often I can see Mt. Tam in my sideview mirror. I pinch myself. I love how the fog funnels down the hillsides like a veil with many pleats. I love how quickly it shifts and reveals blue sky. How I’m going to miss those fog rolls.

I love how it’s never too hot or too cold. I love how in the middle of July I could be in shorts one day and in my November coat the next. Three eighty-degree days in a row and we all get a breather. That’s quite thoughtful of NorCal, isn’t it? I love how wildflowers grow everywhere. Weeds are welcome. Blooms grow on phone poll wires. I love them. I love Harvey’s Garden. I love how it makes me smile at the start of a run or an evening walk, and at the end of both. I love watching people admire the changing of the flowers, their growth, their little signs. I love to see people appreciate the beauty as much as I do. I love that I live somewhere that values flowers as much as I do.

I love that we smile at each other more here, because around us is such remarkableness that we feel a sense of communal luck and good fortune. These are the small things that make people happier. And if something makes you happier, well then, that’s a big thing, isn’t it?

I love how dogs run off-lead once they sprint from the car at Blackies Pasture. I love how owners don’t bother looking behind them for a whole mile, knowing fully well that their hound will catch up to them after they dive into the bay unchaperoned. I love how people stop to chat as the sun sets. Their dogs bring them together. I love how I probably see new faces on a sunset walk every evening, but we all act like we know one another already, because we share this glorious slice of the universe and are grateful for it. It feeds us in so many ways. We are together in that. I love that feeling. I suppose that’s called ‘community.’

Over one year I’ve come to know so many schedules. The man who walks his spaniel before sunrise at Blackies. The woman who hustles through Tennessee Valley at the same hour. Chichi the chihuahua who struts half a mile behind her owner at sunset. The two black standard poodles. The old man who shuffles along by himself after the sun slips behind the mountain and the speeding kids have gone home to dinner. His smile when I wave to him. How eventually he began to say, “hello” in a weak, sweet voice that makes me wonder how often he has the opportunity to speak to someone every day. How some evenings he seems to walk far too far, and I worry about him on the way back, and how some evenings he sits on the bench overlooking the field, and I know he is watching the sunset, and my heart breaks wondering what or who he is thinking about. Then there is the sixty-something-year-old woman who runs from Sausalito to Tiburon every morning and makes me feel so incredibly out of shape. We wave to each other every morning as if we know one another. It’s just us two out that early. And of course, there are the kids on the field overlooking the bay and Sausalito beyond. Practice nights. Their neon jerseys. The dads who sit six feet apart watching their sons. Do these kids know how lucky they are?

I love to get my in my car in the evening and twist my way down Mirabel toward Tiburon. That heavenly light that sparks a second wind is pure rapture. I love to see the golden evening light hit the Sausalito sailboats across the bay. I love how in the winter and the spring when you drive on the 101 you can smell eucalyptus seeping through your car. I love how it hits you like a rock once you exit and roll a window down. I love all of the layers of the mountains at sunrise and sunset— the silhouettes right up against one another, some dotted with evergreens like a watercolour. Sometimes I want to stop the person walking by me and say, isn’t it incredible!? Aren’t we all so lucky?! But surely they’ll think I’m crazy.

The food. Oh, mamma mia. Good Earth. The Farmers Markets. Tell me a time you went to a California farmers market and didn’t leave in a buoyant mood? What could go wrong in a world inhabited by California farmers markets? I love my berry man, how he’s always smiling and hustling and how he calls everyone his friend. I love how he gave a lower price to the ninety-something-year-old woman in front of me one day. I love how human people are here. I love how much people seem to care about one another. I love feeling like, I’m not really alone here, because here there is a community who cares. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced that before. I love the people who I see throughout the course of the year who’ve come to know so much about my life and who remember everything and genuinely seem to care. These are the women who make my nails beautiful, my skin, my strength, on and on. You’re not another ‘customer’ here the way you are in New York. Your story matters more.

California has always been my favourite state. I’ve been visiting since I was a girl and spend more and more time here as I get older. At this point in my life, if I’m going to live in this kooky country, it’s the only state I want to be in. People like to lament the taxes, but where else do you have a life like this? As I pull my Europe wardrobe out of the closet, I’m quite certain I can convince my man to move back to Marin one day. Certainly now I’ve been foolishly and ridiculously spoiled, and I don’t know if anywhere will quite compare to the quality of life found at the base of Mt. Tam, a few miles from the beach, a quick drive to the best airport in the country, and at the epicenter of America’s best local food resources.

Here’s the culmination of the above. I love how it feels like home. I’ve moved so many times—city to city, country to country, apartment to apartment— and I often say, I just want to have a home. But the most important is the feeling of home. Maybe I don’t own four walls quite yet, but to know what it feels like to be home—and to be happy there— is something special.

I used Marin as my main setting for my third book, Sounds of Feeling, and I often think, as I’m taking my sunset walk which I cherish so very much, what would Freddie say if he were here? Probably something about how different today is from yesterday. And from tomorrow. How wondrously, cosmically unique tomorrow will be, when the sun sets thirty seconds earlier or later. Everything will be like it is for the very first time. I don’t know who taught who this perspective. I just know I love to think of it that way. If you read the book and take anything from it, I hope it will be that.

I know what it’s like to move somewhere new and need a few essentials. If you’re moving to Mill Valley, here are a few of mine. Thank you to these wonderful people for making this a great experience:

Emilie Lilly at SkinSpirit Mill Valley — for being an absolute doll all the time, taking such good care of my skin and listening to all my stories.

Caitlin and Pilates ProWorks in Corte Madera for having such a fantastic team of knowledgeable and kind instructors and creating a meaningful community.

Jennifer Fick at Deschamps Braly for Botox and a fabulous chat.

Kim at Valley Nail for the most beautiful manicure I’ve ever found in all of my many years getting manicures.

Flour Craft Bakery for the best vegan oatmeal cookie and always a smile at the register, both of which I will miss dearly.

All of the farmers markets. (Sunday in San Rafael, Thursday in San Rafael, Friday in Mill Valley, Saturday in Larkspur)

Anna’s Seafood for the BEST wild salmon in the world and the best of everything else as well. Life changing.

Equator for their Tigerwalk espresso blend which I shall take with me to Italy.

Dr. Jean Yu, my incredibly kind and knowledgeable OBGYN. (If you’ve moved, you know what a big deal this is to find your new doc!)

Cody- my landlord. If you invest in real estate, please go in with Cody and let him work his magic on another Melrose Place.

Good Earth- my favourite food store in the universe. Happiness is a trip to Good Earth.

All of my favourite walks, runs, and trails— Blackie’s Pasture, Tennessee Valley, Phoenix Lake, et al.

Sushi Ran for the best sushi and black miso cod in the world.

Marin County for taking such good care of its trees, for planting so many flowers, and for giving its residents an abundance of priceless wealth in the form of spectacular green space, nature, and the endlessly giving outdoors.

I have thousands, maybe almost ten thousand photos, of this past year alone. Narrowing it down has been painful, and to be honest I don’t have enough hours in the day for it. Hopefully the below will suffice :)